


Dear Temporary Neighbour

by thefandomsinhalor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blogger Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020 (Supernatural), Food Festival, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Misunderstandings, Neighbors, No cheating, Pining, Rain, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Summer, Swimming, Vacation, lake, temporary Castiel/Hannah, temporary Dean/Richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomsinhalor/pseuds/thefandomsinhalor
Summary: Dean Winchester, a mechanic living just outside of town, is a man of simple tastes. He enjoys sleeping in when he can, he loves to savour a slice of apple pie after a hard day of work, and above all, he cherishes the tranquility and scenery of his remote residence.While he is far from being antisocial, despite what some might say about him, he still prefers keeping to himself.Which is why when he meets his new summer neighbour, Castiel Novak, who is a morning person planning on staying longer than the usual two-week tenants, Dean is annoyed.When he gets to know the guy and realizes how smart, insightful and attractive Castiel really is, Dean then begins to worry.But when he needs to remind himself how very much engaged the man is, Dean grows desperate and infuriated with himself for having fallen for him.If only he knew that Castiel has sought refuge at this charming house by the lake to reflect on certain aspects of his life, notably his engagement, which is much more of an agreement between friends than an actual engagement.A fact that has been weighing on Castiel’s mind.Until he meets Dean. Then, everything becomes very clear.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 125
Kudos: 342
Collections: Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter One: Peace of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for DeanCas Pinefest2020 and I can't believe it's finally time to post this!
> 
> I want to thank Danica_Dust and Landrala for their help and support. You are both amazing, thank you so much for taking the time to help me and being the best betas and friends. The world has been a bit crazy lately, and despite everything, you still managed to help me, and I am extremely grateful. 
> 
> I am also incredibly pleased to have had the chance to work with the kind kysprite. Your art is absolutely wonderful and I can't wait for people to see it! Thank you so much, it was wonderful to talk and work with you. *big virtual hug*
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to the mods for organizing this challenge. Your dedication and patience with us all wasn't unnoticed. Thank you!
> 
> Thank you for reading! And I hope you enjoy it!

_The Roadhouse_ , which was situated smack in the middle of the town’s square, was filled with a merry crowd attending the annual Fourth of July barbeque, despite the sticky and heavy air of the summer.

The room buzzed with excitement and cacophony, and everyone in the room had a smile on their face, honoured to be part of the event, as they were sharing drinks and laughs.

All, but one.

One person, though still fond of the holiday in question, wasn’t particularly thrilled to find themself in a big crowd, such as this one, when nearly the whole town was present.

It typically meant lots of gossiping and unwarranted comments. In other words, everyone being up in everyone’s business, and Dean Winchester didn’t have the heart for that sort of things.

Which was why he had made a point over the years to limit his attendance at social gatherings, soirées such as these in particular.

But because Sam, his brother, had insisted that he take part in the celebration, Dean had caved in and agreed to go.

With the comforting thought that it needed to be only for a short time.

So, there he was, harboring a brave smile, as he was finishing his refreshment, surrounded by everyone.

He had tasted the food, as he had said he would. He had said hello to a handful of people (mostly his co-workers), just as it had been expected of him. And he hadn’t set foot outside the premises once, thus fully exposing himself to the vociferous crowd for a good two hours.

His social requirement had been met and he judged that he was now within his rights to casually leave without too much fuss.

But, of course, Dean wasn’t stupid.

He knew that leaving without saying goodbye—to Sam and Jessica, at the very least—would be ill-mannered on his part. He also knew, however, that by doing so, they would then insist on making him stay and Dean had had his fill of chit-chat and polite nods.

He nevertheless scanned the room quickly, hoping to find them far enough from him, so only a brief nod would be needed to inform them of his intention.

It would also keep him out of their reach for them to stop him.

It was a bit cheeky, and he was positive that Sam would later mention it to him, but he figured that he wouldn’t appear overly ungracious in that fashion.

That was until he set eyes on them.

Standing near the bar, where Kevin Tran was looking incredulously at Donatello Redfield gobbling down a large amount of chicken wings, Sam and Jessica were conversing in depth with a beautiful brunette with long hair.

All three, as though they had felt Dean’s stare on them, turned their heads in his direction.

Sam lifted his arm, signalling Dean to join them, while Jessica whispered something into the brunette’s ear and smiled at her brightly.

Which could only mean one thing.

An awkward set-up.

Convinced that it was now really time for him to leave, Dean turned on his heels, with every intention of gunning for the exit.

He was unfortunately detained.

“Well, _Dean_ Winchester. And just where do you think you’re going, young man?”

He momentarily froze on his spot. With the main door open a few feet away from him, close enough to feel a faint breeze of hot air on his face, Dean considered pretending not to have heard anything and simply continuing on his path. But as the seconds passed, his hesitation made this option no longer acceptable.

So, against all the desires of his being, he adopted a smile, which he hoped didn’t look as fake as it was, and slowly faced the person who had called out his name.

Before him stood none other than Madge Carrigan, Stacey Jorgeson and Sue-Ann Le Grange.

Some of the town’s most notorious inquisitive minds.

In retrospect, letting Sam and Jessica corner him would have been better, thought Dean.

“Surely you aren’t leaving yet,” said Sue-Ann with a large smile. “You only just got here!”

“And we _never_ see you!” said Stacey in the least reproachful way she could master.

Dean let out an awkward laugh and desperately scanned around for Sam and Jessica, but without luck this time.

Of course.

Fearing the wave of questions that was about to hit him, he took a mini-step back, feeling the urge to make a run for it rising within him.

“And with whom did you come here?” asked Madge, stepping forward.

“Or was there someone in particular you were hoping to see here?”

“Um, no. I—I just—”

“ _Are you sure_?” chanted Sue-Ann.

“Because we certainly know a few who would be thrilled to hear from you,” said Stacey.

“That’s not necessary. I’m—I’m good,” he said, hoping he was convincing.

One look at Madge, however, and Dean gathered that she had remained dissatisfied with his answer.

Still attempting to separate himself from the small group, he eased himself slightly to his left, eyeing the exit.

And in doing so, he ran straight into someone.

Stunned, Dean apologized for the bump, as he regained his balance.

“S’all right, Winchester.”

“Oh, um. Hi, Richie.”

Standing with a pretty woman on his arm and a drink in hand, Richie, an old acquaintance of Dean’s, seemed merry to find him at the celebration.

“What happened? Drank a few too many already?” joked Richie.

“He was trying to leave,” said Madge, lifting her eyebrow.

“What? The night has barely started.”

“Precisely.”

“You tell him, Richie.”

Dean swallowed hard, suddenly feeling trapped.

“Come on, Dean,” said Richie. “I’ll get you something to drink for old times’ sake. Please?”

Before Dean could kindly refuse and make up some excuses, someone in the room called for everybody’s attention. Thinking he had been granted the perfect occasion to sneak out without being noticed, Dean subtly moved away from the ladies and his old friend.

Now, had the announcement been about the typical greeting or perhaps an inquiry about misplaced items, cars parked in wrong places and so on, Dean’s escape might have been undetected and not urgent.

Unfortunately for him, the announcement was of another nature entirely.

It was an _engagement_ announcement. One between Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth and the kind-hearted Bess Myers.

And while Dean was truly happy for them and wished them nothing else but happiness together from the bottom of his heart, as was the rest of the crowd cheering for them, he also needed to skedaddle from the premises as fast as he could upon the announcement.

If he had been worried about an invasive interrogation awaiting him prior to the news, it was nothing compared to how frantic he felt about it now that the topic of _romantic relationships_ was officially on everybody’s mind.

Which was why, without further ado, as the people were still applauding, Dean skillfully directed himself to the main door and hastily stepped outside, ignoring the curious looks shot at him.

Or the faint protests he heard from behind him.

Dashing down the road towards his car, he took a deep breath of fresh air, glad to have eluded this situation.

Even if he was aware that it might make him sound like a bitter old man.

Which, he wasn’t.

He simply had had enough of social interaction for one night.

On his way home, with the town and the summer barbeque behind him, Dean soon noticed the tension in his shoulders drastically lessen. His breathing was much calmer, and by the time he turned onto the familiar small dirt road leading to his house, the state of panic, which had plagued his whole body less than half an hour ago, had now dissipated.

He parked his cherished Impala next to a large cherry tree, turned off the car's engine and deeply exhaled.

Listening.

To the sound of the frogs singing.

And the wind brushing against the leaves and the water.

He was home.

He trotted to his porch, which faced a quiet and peaceful lake, and stepped inside his house.

His small, yet practical, one-story house, where he could enjoy his privacy and tranquility.

The front door opened directly to the joined kitchen and dining room, which consisted of a small round table with two dark chairs and the usual kitchen appliances, such as a stove, oven, an old toaster and a fridge that had seen better days. The room was of a white and pale blue colour, with dark brown cupboards. And the counter space was somewhat limited, but ran along the corner window. A feature that Dean always liked because it gave view to the lake and the house next-door.

When he didn’t feel like drawing closed his black and white plaid curtains, that was.

Next to the kitchen and dining room area was a small living room that contained a cozy charcoal couch, a television, a modest coffee table in the middle of the room, and an old, yet still in perfect condition, cast iron fireplace in the corner that was used only during the cold nights of the winter. Beneath a large window was a low built-in bookshelf.

A short hallway led to a cozy bedroom, right next to the bathroom and compact “laundry room,” accessible via a sliding door.

Small, but practical.

And homey. 

Dean smiled, happy to find everything exactly the way he had left it. He retrieved a cold beer from the fridge and sat down on his rocking chair right outside his front door.

Feeling the faint breeze against his face.

While admiring the bright orange sunset reflecting on the still lake.

In peace.

But not for long, as it turned out.

After having taken only a few sips of his beer, Dean felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He had a rather good idea of who was calling him, and if he was right, he also guessed what type of conversation he was about to suffer through.

One he wanted nothing to do with.

For a short moment, he seriously considered letting it go to voicemail. But he reasoned that, while he could evade the cross-examination of certain people, he wouldn’t be able to dodge _this_ particular phone call forever.

And the longer he waited, the worse it would get.

So, he grabbed his phone with some apprehension and sure enough, without even checking the caller ID, his hypothesis was confirmed the instant he answered it.

“Dean? Where the hell are you?” Sam was yelling over the music playing in the background. “I’ve been scanning the place for a while now and I have no clue where you are.”

“Home, Sam. I’m back home.”

“You left?” he said, exasperated.

“Yup. And I’m glad. I’m tired. It was time to call it a night.”

“Damn it, Dean! It’s barely _eight thirty_.” There was a short pause when the music became less audible, as though Sam had stepped outside _The Roadhouse_. “And you left without saying goodbye! Thanks. Nice.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, but I just needed to—I just felt like going home.”

“Why? Was something wrong?”

“No,” he lied.

“Dean, I—” Sam let out a deep sigh. “I really wish you would have let us know you were leaving. Or better yet, _stayed_. Just a little while longer. I—there was someone I wanted you to meet.”

Dean shut his eyes as he leaned his head backwards.

“Her name is Beth,” continued Sam. “Beth Roberts. She’s a social worker and she lives in Redemption, which isn’t that far from here. She’s nice. I thought—I thought you two would hit it off.”

“I—I’m sorry about leaving without telling you. Really. And I’m sure she’s nice, but I—I don’t really feel it.”

“But you haven’t even met her. Don’t you want to do that, at least?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why? Dean, I—you did the same thing last month when that guy Dixon asked you out.”

“That was _not_ the same thing, Sam. And you know it.”

“Okay, but still. I’m just—I don’t get it. I thought—unless…is it because you already met someone? And maybe you just kept it to yourself?”

Dean had to actually suppress a laugh at that one.

“You don’t have to tell me who if that’s the—” started saying Sam, but Dean cut him off.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Biting hard on his lips, he pondered on his answer.

There were things that Dean knew no one was supposed to say out loud, however strongly one felt about them. Simply thinking them made him feel rather pathetic as it was, and _actually_ uttering them to someone else would be nothing short of folly.

So, no. No oversharing moments on the schedule for the night, he thought.

“Look, I know you’re trying to help. I appreciate it, but I—I just don’t feel like it.” And then he added quickly before Sam could reply, “Right now. I just don’t feel like it, right now.”

“Is something wrong?” repeated Sam.

“Nothing is wrong. Well,” he said, adopting a more playful tone, “except for the fact that in less than a month I’m going to have to endure the vacationers next door.”

Dean knew that his change of topic hadn’t been presented with the smoothest of segue. But given that his massive annoyance with people renting next door was a known fact, he hoped that Sam would bite and not overthink.

At the sound of Sam’s sniggering over the phone, he gathered that he had indeed succeeded.

“I honestly don’t understand your massive bitching about them,” said Sam.

“It annoys me. What’s so complicated to understand about that?”

“It’s next door. It’s not like they live at your house.”

“Might as well be considering how loud and invasive they are. There is a reason why I live here and not in town, Sam. And they are making it unbearable.”

“You didn’t have a problem when Donna used to drop by over the weekend.”

“That’s because it was Donna! She didn’t behave like a frat boy over spring break or drag screaming children with her. And don’t get me started on the—it just—it sucks. These people have no consideration.”

“It’s her house, Dean. She has the right to do whatever she wants with it. Including renting it. And it’s only for two weeks.”

“I know _that_. But it doesn’t change the fact that those two weeks are borderline traumatic for me.”

And he went on, fully aware that he sounded like a bitter old man.

But better to sound like a bitter old man about _that_ , than a sad and self-pitying one about other _things_ , he thought. So, he contented himself that the other matter had been dropped.

For the night at least.

And soon enough, once Sam seemed reassured that there wasn’t anything wrong with him, as he was being his usual self, they said goodnight and hung up the phone.

Now, with this semi-crisis averted, Dean let out a deep breath and stared at the lake, taking in the soothing tranquility around him.

He hated thinking it, but he was then convinced more than ever that he should have simply remained home.

As it had been his initial plan.

But Sam and Jessica had argued that it would do him good to not stay cooped up in his house for once. And in many ways, he knew that there might have been some truth to it.

That being said, he also knew that wishing to not subject himself to a deeply bothersome situation should still be his prerogative, regardless of what society norms deemed acceptable.

After all, Dean couldn’t remember a day spent calmly at home that had made him feel that anxious and morose.

While the same could not be said about the alternative.

And this was why, until he felt differently about it, he planned on listening to his gut and would politely decline next time.

He would stay home. Where it was cozy and peaceful.

The following week sadly turned out to be rough for Dean. For one, the heat was settling much faster—and more intensively—than usual, which unfortunately brought along the maddening power outage due to the overuse of air conditioning. And the fact that, days after the event, everyone was tearing his ear off about the highlights of the barbeque, Garth and Bess’ engagement included, also did not help.

This was in no way a surprise to Dean, as he expected the subject to be highly discussed all over town.

As it deserved to be, of course.

But by the end of the week, he had grown tired of hearing the same conversation over and over around him, making him feel even worse that he had never been one to share the excitement over the matter. All this rendered him eagerly looking forward to the weekend, when he would be able to rest and take a break from the constant chatter that was draining him so.

But Saturday morning provided Dean with a surprise that spoiled his plans of relaxation and isolation.

He was abruptly woken up at dawn by some racket. Slightly confused, at first, it took him a moment to realize that he hadn’t been dreaming and that the rumpus was coming from next door.

That was when he sat up in his bed and his whole body tensed up.

“No. It can’t be,” he muttered.

He swung his thin bedsheet off, grabbed the first pair of pants and shirt he could get his hands on, and ran to the kitchen to have a better look at the house next door through the kitchen window.

And sure enough, the kitchen and living room lights were on.

Having a semi-heart attack, he stepped onto his porch, hoping to find Donna doing a way-ahead-of-schedule check-up. But even before he reached the steps, he knew that it was only wishful thinking.

No vehicle was parked outside, only a yellow bicycle resting against the porch. Luggage was spread out on the patio. And the door of the shed was wide open.

Unlike his house, Donna’s was nearly a glass house. The outside walls of the kitchen and living room, which were facing his home, were definitely made of glass, in any case.

Which made it very easy for Dean to spot the dark-haired man, dressed in shorts and a bright blue tank top standing by the table, holding an extension cord, looking around him as though he was trying to find an outlet.

And it was at this moment that the man noticed Dean staring at him. He let go of the cord and headed towards the porch.

His fury increasing with each step, Dean was already halfway there, when the man, going down the stairs to meet him, began introducing himself. “Hello,” he said in a grave voice. “My name is Castiel. It’s so nice to—”

But Dean, blinded by his rage, didn’t want to hear it.

“Please, tell me you’re with Donna.”

Castiel blinked. “No, I’m—I’m renting from Miss Hanscum. She said—”

“Already? It’s usually at the end of the month. And she gives me a heads up. _Always_.”

“That’s my fault. It was a last-minute arrangement and Miss Hanscum was very accommodating. It is incredibly nice of her to agree on renting me her house for the summer that hastily.”

Dean stopped breathing.

“What? The—the whole summer?”

“Well, no. _Nearly_ the whole summer. Six weeks to be precise.”

Feeling numb, Dean blurted out, “Family or couple?”

“I—pardon?”

“Family or couple?” repeated Dean.

Castiel hesitated a moment and said, “I’m sorry. I—I don’t understand what you are asking.”

“Whatever. I’m Dean and do you realize what time it is?”

Castiel simply gaped at him.

“Early,” groaned Dean. “Can you just please keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep.” And before letting his new neighbor say anything else, he turned around and headed back to his house.

It was unfortunate, however, that Dean had solely focused on the noise. Had he let his neighbour introduce himself properly, and politely, he would have learned that Castiel was the only vacationer next door.

And that, surprisingly, he had been looking forward to meeting Dean.


	2. Chapter Two: Welcome to Tulpa

Castiel Novak had always done the right thing to the best of his abilities. His life, though perhaps not filled with excitement, was far from being awful.

He had a nice cushy job, which he excelled at.

He had a beautiful home that he loved, despite that it was somewhat hazardous at the moment due to remodeling.

He was healthy and didn’t have any bad blood with his family members. No feud. No skeletons in the closet. No drama.

And yes. He was also engaged.

Daphne Allen was a nice and generous woman, who came from a respected family, and was someone for whom Castiel cared very much. He had met her in college and had always believed himself to be incredibly lucky to have her in his life.

Which was why he felt like he had nothing to complain about, especially when he considered how many people were struggling in this dog-eat-dog of a world.

And yet, over the past few years, something was not right.

He had found himself feeling something he never had before: yearning.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it had begun, nor did he know what he was yearning for precisely, but the feeling was present. There was no denying it.

And it was growing.

Which was bothersome.

In the attempt of getting rid of it, Castiel had taken it upon himself to explore a series of new activities and hobbies, from learning a new language to taking kick-boxing classes, thinking one of them would do the trick.

Sadly, the feeling remained and continued to grow, hitting him a little harder every time.

Then, just over a year ago, Daphne had suggested the brilliant idea of starting a blog. Feeling somewhat too uninformed to tackle this endeavour, and not to mention that he had no clue what on earth its focus would even be about, Castiel had hesitated.

But with Daphne’s encouragement, he gave it his best shot.

There had been a period of adjustment, of course, and his blog had shaped into something quite different than he had initially planned, but in the end, he had been very pleased with the outcome, and he had, at the very least, finally found a pastime he was passionate about.

And while this was cause for celebration, it hadn’t fixed his longing problem.

Even with everything, Daphne, his friends, the blog, his job and so on, it still was present.

Which was troubling.

Of course, because issues have the tendency of multiplying themselves at the most unfortunate of moments, Castiel was then caught dealing with other complications, including delayed remodeling, a call from Human Resources, as well as another personal predicament, which ultimately prompted him taking off on a long—overdue—vacation.

But more on that later.

Once it was settled that he was going on vacation, the prospect of being cozily cooped up in a calm and restful place, was incredibly appealing to him.

Even if he only had a vague idea of what he was looking for, the moment he set eyes on Miss Hanscum’s renting advertisement, he had a good feeling about it.

A quaint lake-house. Fully furnished. Surrounded by trees. Just over ten minutes outside the city limits of Tulpa, a quiet and charming town.

Even though there was something a bit strange about living in somebody else’s home, he loved the idea that it also might add a homey vibe to the place. That certainly was what he thought when Miss Hanscum—or Donna—had sent him additional information about the residence, once he had contacted her with great interest.

What had truly convinced him about the property, however, was when she had begun depicting the dreamy town and its occupants, _especially_ the only immediate neighbour, Dean Winchester, a friendly, food lover and mechanic, whom Donna had described as being very sympathetic, quiet, and helpful to everyone around him.

 _Nothing_ like the rude man he met on his arrival.

Which was a pity.

Not long after their brief exchange, Dean grudgingly drove off, leaving Castiel quite stunned by his attitude. He replayed their encounter in his mind as he settled himself slowly into the lake-house, and although he hoped it was simply a big misunderstanding, Castiel nonetheless promised himself to try anew and apologize on his return.

But when Dean finally came back after dinner, and Castiel waved him hello from his porch, he was only met with a stern look from Dean and a front door slamming unnecessarily loudly.

Castiel was now officially upset. He spent the rest of his night tossing and turning. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with an infuriated neighbour— _his only neighbour_ —for the rest of the summer on top of everything else.

This location was too peaceful and beautiful for this, he thought.

And not to mention that he could never stand it when people were vexed with him.

So, after a long night of reflection, Castiel, loathing confrontations and often at a loss with social cues, decided to leave a note of apology on Dean’s doormat the next morning.

Writing had always been a nice alternative to get his point across, so he hoped that it would suffice.

Dear temporary neighbour,

Please, forgive me for my loudness so early in the morning. I promise it will not happen again and I would very much like to make it up to you.

I am delighted to finally be here. The tranquility of the place is idyllic and just what I am craving.

Hoping you are well.

Castiel

Dear temporary neighbour,

As you might imagine, I don’t know anyone here. And since I am planning on staying for over a month, I thought that I could take this opportunity to make new friends, as it is my understanding that it is never a bad time to make new friends.

Given our housing proximity, that we seem roughly the same age (I am ball parking here) and that I am most intrigued to hear about this beautiful car you own, I was really hoping we could get to know one another.

You are evidently under no obligation to do so. But feel free to knock on my door for a chat or coffee any time you’d like.

Castiel

Dear temporary neighbour,

I hope your week has been good to you so far. With the weather turning extremely hot, I took the liberty to make my homemade lemonade refresher (fun fact, I call it lemonade even though I don’t use lemons as an ingredient, and it does not even taste like a lemonade).

If you fancy a drink, please, come and join me.

Castiel

For nearly a week, Castiel left notes at Dean’s door every day, and every day he would get no answer. He only caught sight of him when he would hear the engine roaring, announcing his departure and arrival. And it was always brief, without a glance in Castiel’s direction.

Even though Dean continued ignoring him and did nothing about the notes, the one silver lining was that he seemed to—at least—read them.

After reaching his front door, Dean always paused a moment, picked up the note that was waiting for him on his doormat, stared at it for a few seconds and then entered his house, with the note in hand.

Of course, it may very well be that he was simply throwing them into the recycling the moment he stepped inside his home, utterly indifferent to them and without reading a single word of them.

Unless Dean would accept to speak with him, there was no way of knowing.

But Castiel didn’t think that was the case.

So, he continued implementing patience and focused on acclimating himself to the house and the nearby town of Tulpa.

Which wasn’t a difficult task at all, as he felt comfortable and almost instantly at home. He had been surprised how modern the house was when Donna had first sent him the information. She had explained that the lake-house had been remodeled when she had inherited it, as well as some money, from her father years ago. Her initial intention had been to move there permanently as her main residence. But just when the house was receiving the final touches, she had then been offered a promotional transfer in Stillwater—a far too good of an opportunity to pass on. Emotionally unable to let go of her father’s house, she decided instead to rent it for a few weeks during summer, long enough to help her pay the property taxes.

The glass walls, which surrounded nearly the entire house (except the bathroom and part of the kitchen), was an amazing feature of the house that Castiel could not stop revelling on. He had been briefly worried that the sun would become annoying and that he would feel somewhat exposed with glass walls, but Donna had reassured him that there were window shades specifically for that, and that besides Dean, who was endorsing one’s right to privacy, nobody else lived close enough to see anything. So, Castiel needed not stress about that.

No matter what, he had to admit that the view of the lake and forest, made possible because of the glass walls, regardless of the time of day, was nothing short of breathtaking.

As for the rest of the house, it was relatively spacious, especially for one person. Most of the furniture and appliances were modern, of good taste, and mainly of neutral colors. He had everything he needed, including Wi-Fi with decent coverage.

The only downside was that the air conditioning was inoperative. It had broken down during the previous summer, and unfortunately Donna hadn’t had the chance to replace it.

As regrettable as this was, especially because of the intense and sticky heat, Castiel wasn’t too bothered by it. There was plenty of shade for him to hide in with the window shades and large trees surrounding him, not to mention an entire beautiful lake of dark water for him to dip himself into whenever the heat would feel overwhelming. So, as long as he made sure to stay hydrated, the lack of air conditioning was a mild inconvenience, at best.

As for the town, though he had never resided in a small community, Castiel had always found the concept to be idyllic.

He cycled into town on Sunday morning, eager to explore it and its surrounding area. Due to the dirt roads, and even a few hills he had encountered on his way there, it had taken him roughly an hour to reach his destination.

And he had been out of breath, in dire need of a cool drink, and had made the promise to himself to get in better shape the moment he crossed the town limits, but it had been worth it.

The small town was exactly what he had hoped for. Large green trees and colorful flowers were everywhere. The main street consisted of local shops and almost felt like he had stepped into an amiable town from the 50’s, where no one ever seemed to be in a rush, and everyone was stress-free and friendly.

And after briefly exchanging a few words with some of the citizens, his impression appeared to be well-founded. Like Ellen Harvelle, the nice owner of _The Roadhouse_ who gave him a warm welcome nearly the moment stepped into the establishment—a pub that offered an interesting menu and draft selection. Even Mr. Devereaux, the eccentric owner of the local bookshop, a spot that Castiel planned to visit many times in the future, entertained him during a good half hour with interesting theories concerning the consumption of cheese alone.

Wanting to savour the town slowly, Castiel, once sufficiently rested, grabbed a few items at the grocery store as to not starve for the next few days, with the firm intention of coming back in a day or two to replenish his fridge.

It wouldn’t be like he had any choice, anyway.

Short of caving in and getting a rental, something he wasn’t inclined on doing—so much so that he had relied on a taxi from the airport—his only means of transportation was his bike. Which meant that he could only carry what would fit into his backpack for groceries and that he would most likely need to return to town multiple times a week.

And as exhausting and daunting as it may have seemed in that moment, he was actually looking forward to it. Cycling to town for almost an hour would offer him the opportunity to reflect on many things.

Thus, even though the heat was getting impressively heavy, and his body hurt in places he didn’t even know could hurt, he did as he had planned and returned to town every other day.

On his short visits, he also checked out the library, rested in a park, which had an impressive amount of splendid willow and cherry trees, and was pleased to have run across an old theatre that, if the advertisement was to be believed, held a showing of a classic movie once a week.

Back at the house, he tried to indulge in what he had come to do: relax. He read. Answered his email, personal and from his blog. Took the time to cook.

And also napped. And the warm and inviting sun was definitely helpful with that last leisure.

One thing he began to do every night was take a night swim. Just enough to cool his body, making sleep bearable in the heavy heat.

And still, as the week slowly passed, he still hadn’t heard from Dean. Nor had he seen much of him, either.

But on Thursday, during his trip to the farmer’s market, Castiel was inspired with an idea.

Just as the previous days, he once again left a kind note on Dean’s doormat, but this time, Castiel decided to add a little something more.

He also left a box containing a fresh, homemade apple pie.

Slightly worried that Dean might step on it at first, which would evidently be far more disastrous than a piece of paper, he briefly debated if he should offer it in person. But given that his efforts had been fruitless so far, he concluded that the best option remained to let Dean come to him if and when he was ready.

Not the other way around.

And, as it turned out, it was the good approach.

When Dean peeked inside the box, after arriving home from a long day of work, he finally glanced in Castiel’s direction, who was observing him from the kitchen.

He stood still, pondering on his next move, and after a short hesitation when he looked at his front door, he shoved his keys back in his pocket and started heading towards Castiel’s house, with the box of pie in hand.

Castiel opened his door to greet him, but before he could utter one word, Dean, now on his porch, asked, “Did you seriously leave this for me?”

While it hadn’t been the courteous greeting Castiel had been hoping for, it was the first time Dean didn’t appear aggravated with him.

Castiel nodded to him. “I made it for you,” he specified.

And Dean’s eyes immediately softened on the spot. A smile curled up on his face.

“That—I can’t believe this. That’s so kind of you. Thank you.”

At last, the individual he had heard so much about, Castiel thought.

And as if on cue, that was when the power suddenly went out.

They exchanged an amused look, and Dean said, “Since that just happened, did you by any chance try out your barbeque yet?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Um, I have the necessary stuff at home to make us burgers. Hot dogs, too, and—how about I go grab what we need and we give Donna’s barbeque a try? And we’ll share the pie after?”


	3. Chapter Three: Emmanuel's Advice

True to himself, Dean had remained stubborn vis-à-vis the premature and noisy arrival of his neighbour.

Even if he knew that he had perhaps been needlessly harsh with him.

But not enough to tell him so, apparently.

Not yet.

And then, _the notes began_.

In all fairness, Dean had found the notes to have been a very clever touch.

One could almost say a _smooth_ one.

He also had been relatively impressed at Castiel’s tenacity. Still somewhat spiteful on that first day, Dean had simply put the note aside, determined to remain contemptuous, as he believed that Castiel would simply give up and leave him be.

But he didn’t and more notes showed up on his doorstep. Heartfelt. And funny ones, too.

And in a matter of a few days, Dean was almost eager to return home just to see if a note was waiting for him.

And soon, curiosity was, of course, getting the better of him. He occasionally glanced towards the house next door just to see what Castiel was up to.

Because practically the whole damn house was made of glass and that he wasn’t accustomed to much activity around him, Dean detected movement almost instantly and was therefore prone to look at the house instinctively.

That had been his excuse, anyway.

But as the week progressed, he caught himself keeping track of Castiel’s occupation.

When the man cooked. When he typed on his laptop. When he read and napped.

Especially when he did his yoga routine on the patio every morning at dawn.

And as much as Dean hated saying it, seeing Castiel unwind, reading in his hammock, as the pink sun was slowly beginning to set, it appeared that Castiel was rather a mellow guy.

And good-looking, too.

Though, that was besides the point, thought Dean.

And when it was clear that Castiel was truly the sole occupant of Donna’s house and that he genuinely seemed to want to befriend him, Dean regretted his Saturday morning outburst.

Yet, he still continued to be a stubborn idiot and not pay a visit to Castiel.

Until he found the pie and another delightful note waiting for him on his patio. He knew then that he couldn’t ignore him any longer.

So, hoping his neighbour was as forgiving as he claimed to be, Dean immediately marched to his door to thank him and properly apologize.

And due to Castiel’s genuine nature and understanding, Dean was grateful of the man’s kindness, and promised himself to return the favour.

The good news was that, with the power out, he didn’t have to wait too long to rise to the occasion. Barbequing was the perfect solution to make things right.

Thus, at Dean’s suggestion, he and Castiel began preparing themselves a semi-feast of cheeseburgers, hot dogs, homemade steak cut fries, roasted cherry tomatoes with garlic, as well as grilled peppers and asparagus. All of it with cold beers and a delicious pie for dessert. 

While Dean was taking care of the burger patties and Castiel was cutting the potatoes quickly next to him, Dean took the opportunity to examine the house more closely.

Needless to say, he knew what the interior looked like because of the glass walls and that he had also often visited Donna before she had left.

But that had been much earlier to the remodeling.

And even though Dean knew of the changes, he was surprised how finding himself inside the home was very different than what he had expected.

The house used to be a perfect mirror to Dean’s, but not anymore. The space felt much more open than his house. And the layout of the kitchen was almost identical to his own, not reversed as it used to be. The fireplace and the furniture were far more gorgeous than they appeared to be from his living room vantage point.

And if he thought the view of the lake from his own kitchen window was impressive, watching it standing from this kitchen was incomparable.

As they readied to carry everything to the barbeque, Dean noticed Castiel putting away a dictionary, as well as a bunch of notebooks and his laptop, to make room on the counter.

Dean opened his mouth to ask a question, but shut it quickly and continued on his task.

Once everything was set up on the grill, Castiel handed him a cold beer and they sat on the lounge chairs for a moment. Being granted a minute to relax, Dean was now eager to ask a few questions.

“So, I’m curious about something,” he said, after taking a sip of his beer. “You mentioned that you’re planning on being here for more than a month and, given the length, it just now occurred to me that maybe you aren’t even here for a vacation.”

“No, it is the intended purpose of my stay here.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. So, not that I want to pry, but how did you pull that off?”

“I—work has kept me very busy this year and, long story short, I somehow managed to accumulate a spectacular amount of vacation days. If I didn’t make use of them soon, I’d lose them and my boss was on my case to not let that happen. It was more or less what had occurred last year and it had been very badly seen.”

“So, you were basically forced to take a break. That is a very _tragic_ story,” he said, grinning at him.

“Believe me, I am fully aware of how very lucky I am to even be granted this luxury, which is why I followed through with his request this time. Resting somewhere peaceful interested me—more than playing the tourist in some foreign destination, anyway—and Daphne, who kept reminding me, rightly so, that I’ve been in a dire need of a change of scenery, thought it was a sensible idea to head somewhere remote to unwind, too, so…When I put all this together, I started searching for private cottages to rent and, well, next thing I knew, here I am.”

Dean shifted on his seat.

“Daphne? And, um, who’s that?”

“My fiancé.”

And there it was.

Dean let the words sink in for a few seconds.

Although he was mildly disappointed at this newly acquired information, he also believed, after a brief reflection, that being aware of that fact immediately was, oddly enough, liberating to him.

With Castiel being _off the market_ , so to speak, he realized that he wouldn’t need to worry about impressing him.

Or agonize over his own appearance.

Or how truly silly his jokes were.

All the usual stuff that rendered Dean too conscious of himself.

He could be himself with no fear of ruining everything.

As there was nothing to ruin.

It put that _possibility_ —the one which had slowly taken form in the back of his mind over the past week—to rest, once and for all.

Or so, he thought.

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you. And when will she arrive?”

“She won’t, actually,” said Castiel, after a short pause. “She’ll stop by at some point, but she won’t be able to stay for very long. _Duty called_.”

And while Dean truly believed that Castiel’s answer didn’t change anything about his newfound relief, he would realize soon enough that he had been greatly mistaken.

After a quick look at the grill (and catching a big whiff of everything cooking) they concluded that their sumptuous meal was ready. Since the power was still out, they decided to eat outside hidden underneath Donna’s large parasol, where a faint breeze was detectable, even if the air was still hot and sticky.

They set up everything accordingly on the table of the patio and Castiel went to fetch each of them a cool beer, as they were nearly done with their first one. He made sure to also bring the cool cucumber water pitcher he had in the fridge to help with hydration.

Famished, they ate quietly for the first few minutes, eager to taste everything. The fries were still too hot to handle, but the vegetables had cooled down enough for Dean to eat a generous portion before attacking his main meal. And once he had taken a few bites of his amazing bacon cheeseburger with spicy applesauce, he purposely put it down and took a deep breath, meaning to not gobble everything down in one go.

And he let out a deep satisfied moan.

Watching him, Castiel said, “Worth it?”

“Oh, yeah,” laughed Dean. “I might regret it tomorrow, but I really don’t care right now. Everything is so delicious. Even the tomatoes. I wouldn’t have thought of roasting them. That was brilliant.”

“Well, to be fair, considering the heat, perhaps we should have abstained from it,” admitted Castiel. “But I always preferred them that way.”

“I’m still glad we did this,” said Dean, tentatively picking up a fry. “So, um, I’m not totally sure where we left off before.” 

Tilting his head, Castiel said, “Me neither. You asked if I came here for a vacation or not.”

“Right. So, um, are you pleased with your decision so far? Besides the grumpy neighbour ordeal, I mean,” he added, nearly embarrassed.

Castiel smirked.

“Yes. So far, I am really happy. I love the town. The vibe of it. And the lake,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “It’s just gorgeous.”

“The glorified pond, you mean?” Dean said, laughing.

“It is small, but so…serene. Peaceful. And the place is so tranquil, other than you, I haven’t seen anyone else here.”

“There aren’t many,” said Dean. “The properties surrounding the lake—or the land surrounding it, if you will—are old. They cover a lot of ground. There was big talk once upon a time to sell and divide some of the land, because nearly everyone kept getting offers from people who wanted to build. But the owners all passed. They liked the tranquility of the place and were all in agreement that it should stay as is. That was well before my time, and since then, developers created similar spots with artificial lakes in the surrounding areas, so the demands considerably diminished.”

“How many properties are there here?” asked Castiel, turning his gaze on the lake. “I haven’t explored the area in depth, but your house is the only one I’ve seen so far.”

“There are nine of us, all around the lake. And this here,” he said, tapping at the table, “these two houses are the only ones this close to each other.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

“The land was owned by the same family. I think I remember my grandfather telling me that it was two siblings who had purchased the land. It got passed down to their kids, and so on, and eventually, the extended families weren’t close anymore so they sold it. But anyway, even if the other seven houses would be closer, it would still be very quiet. Beside old Sinclair, all cooped up across the lake, I’m the only one living here year long.”

“Huh. And who are the others?”

“The Avila siblings own the other house next to Donna’s down there,” he said, pointing at their right, “and they are only here during the holidays. Asa Fox, who’s right next to them, does live there too, technically speaking, but he’s literally never home. He comes back maybe three—four times a year and only for a few days before leaving again. The rest, like Rufus Turner, Annie Hawkins, the Romeros, and even Ezra Moore, who’s my neighbor on the other side, they all come here once in a while for a weekend, but it’s rare. Not even once a month. And when they do, I barely even notice because we are so far away from each other. The only one I obviously could tell was—”

“Miss Hanscum.”

“Yeah. She used to come here a little more often, even before she inherited the house from her dad. But since she moved, I haven’t seen much of her. The only people I see are the, um—”

“The renters,” said Castiel, smirking, helping himself to another hot dog.

“Yeah.”

“And given how we met, am I to understand that you don’t really have a good experience with them?”

“Okay,” said Dean as he held down a grin. “I deserved that. Again, I’m really sorry about that.”

“No worries. You’ve already apologized. I’m only teasing. But I have to say, you were incredibly upset. Are they really that bad? And what was it you had asked me? Family or…?”

“Oh. Um,” he said, clearing his throat. “I—I wanted to know what to expect…especially after you told me how long you were planning on staying.”

“I see.” And then, after a short pause, he said, “I scared you, didn’t I?”

“A little, yes. Some people have been—” And hesitating on oversharing, Dean bit his lips a moment.

“Have been what?”

“It’s, um, it’s just…like you mentioned earlier, the place is really calm and I’m used to it. And that’s how I like it. I know I overreacted with you, but people who come here usually don’t seem to appreciate the vibe of this place. They certainly don’t hold much respect for it, anyway. I have no idea why, but it’s like that, once they realize how peaceful it is, they think it means that nobody is around and that supposedly grants them the right to be as loud as they want, even though I’m obviously right there next to them. Now, if I’d be like old Sinclair, living _across_ the damn lake, none of them would bother me.”

“But you are not.”

“No. And I know Donna isn’t doing it on purpose, and she can’t decide who is interested in renting this place, nor can she control them once they get here, but, um, it’s really been annoying over the past few years. Families. Couples. Friend reunions. God, I even had frat boys once and I think I should have had therapy afterwards.”

Castiel laughed. “But, um, there is only one bedroom in the house. How did an entire group of friends, or frat boys, manage?”

“They brought tents, which did even less for the noise control.”

“I can imagine. Well, the good news is that you don’t have to worry about any of this with me. Consider me an old monk as I’m here to enjoy the tranquility, not disturb it. And besides Daphne who will make a brief appearance, depending on work, I won’t have many visitors. And I am in no way planning on throwing a _rager_.”

“Okay,” laughed Dean, taking another sip of his beer. “That’s certainly a relief.”

Once they had both reached their limits for burgers and hot dogs, they decided it was time to attack the apple pie.

Grinning, Dean cut them a piece each and was really delighted that the dessert was as delicious as it had seemed.

If not perhaps better.

Sweet, with a distinct taste of cinnamon, but not too overpowering, and a perfect flaky, buttery crust.

A complete bliss.

Dean snapped out of his euphoria, however, when Castiel yielded the conversation onto another subject.

“So, what about you?” he asked, cutting the dessert with his fork. “I feel like we’ve only talked about me or the houses so far. I still don’t know much about you.”

Trying not to panic, Dean said in an even tone, “There isn’t much to say. I’m a mechanic. And I got a younger brother who lives in town with his wife. That’s about it.”

“That’s nice. And what about your love life? Are you seeing anyone?”

Dean swallowed hard.

The one topic he desperately tried to avoid.

The one topic that he loathed so deeply, it almost made him feel sick.

The one topic that he feared he would never have the right answer to.

“Um, no. Not at the moment, I’m not.”

And he immediately lowered his eyes, shoved food in his mouth, expecting the usual follow up questions and comments.

_“How come?”_

_“Since when?”_

_“I know the perfect person to remedy that!”_

_“Tick tock. Better get on it!”_

But nothing.

To Dean’s astonishment, Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t bombard him with questions or overwhelming comments. He simply stared at him for what felt like a long minute.

So much so that Dean almost grew anxious of his reply.

And when he finally did speak, it was not at all what Dean had expected.

“My apologies, Dean.”

“What for? I—why do you say that?”

Still staring at him, Castiel then put down his fork, leaned on his elbows, and said, adopting a serious, yet gentle, tone, “I didn’t mean to pry and I—it seems like I made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I—it’s not a problem. I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“All right. But all the same, it may have been a little intrusive of me, so don’t feel obligated to answer if you do not wish to do so. About that or anything else.”

Staring him in the eyes, Dean repositioned himself on his seat. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course. You shouldn’t have to talk about something if it makes you feel uneasy. That’s not even a question. And consequently, if you do wish to discuss something—anything at all—from book suggestions to heavy stuff, just know that I’m here.”

And after giving him a sympathetic smile, he picked up his fork again and continued eating his pie.

And left it at that.

No nagging.

No judgment.

No manipulation.

Just genuine understanding and a sincere offer with no strings attached to it.

It was such an unusual behaviour compared to what Dean was accustomed to that he remained still, carefully observing Castiel as he tried to discern any hint of dishonesty.

But his gut feeling told him that Castiel was to be trusted. He presented himself like an open book, and if the past week had proven anything, it was that Castiel was kind-hearted and had integrity. He had made an effort to reach Dean, while also giving him his space.

Traits that Dean hadn’t had the chance to witness lately.

And with this in mind, he was then unexpectedly tempted to take a leap of faith.

He took a deep breath and pushed his plate aside. And after one last hesitation, he said, “The thing is—about that, is that—I—I’m just not really good at it.”

Castiel stopped chewing and calmly observed him. “And _it_ being what exactly?”

“Relationships.”

And Castiel held on to his deadpan expression.

“So, I—I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me.”

And Castiel frowned at long last. “How do you mean?”

“Because of my whole track record with long term relationships... Namely that there isn’t much to tell. It didn’t really bother me before. I just figured that I had time or—but I—" he cleared his throat. “And now, I—I’m not sure why, but it felt like overnight I kept being cornered by everyone around me who incessantly commented about my relationship status. Or more specifically, about my lack of having one. People kept asking me when I’d finally settle down, openly and constantly fixing me up with someone—without even consulting me—and I—and I know they mean well—some of them, anyway—but…it’s gotten to the point that now I just feel—I—” and the rest of his sentence died in his throat, as he felt it tighten.

“They made you feel even more self-conscious about it.”

Dean nodded as he twisted his fork with his fingers, making sure that his eyes were focused on his pie.

“So, do you want to be in a long-term relationship?” asked Castiel.

“Yeah. Of course.”

He then bit on his lips and swallowed hard.

“But?” said Castiel. “I feel like there might be a ‘but’…”

Dean took a deep breath. “ _But_ I told you, I—given my poor history, I don’t think I should hold my breath on that. It is what it is and I—every time people question me about that and I don’t give them the _right answer_ —the one that everyone seemed to have managed just fine—it’s like I disappointed them. And the more they ask…it’s a constant reminder that there must be something wrong with me for having failed in an area of my life. Even if I never needed the reminder. I already knew,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice even.

He took another deep breath, repositioned on his seat once more, and after a few seconds of complete silence, he glanced cautiously at Castiel, now worried that he might have had way overshared.

And Castiel was staring back with a concerned look on his face. Not annoyed or even uncomfortable, but _concerned_.

“Okay, I’m—I’m not sure where to start as—but right now, I feel like I need to press that I think you’re being too hard on yourself," he finally told him. "You shouldn’t beat yourself up about any of that, and especially not because _your_ life choices don’t meet _someone else’s_ expectations. And while I think—and hope—that people really don’t judge you as much as you may feel they do, please know that your success or failure can never be valued by something like your lack of relationship status. As no one is the same, and not everybody values the same things.”

Dean was speechless.

This was not the usual response people gave him.

Far from it.

“And as for your so-called bad history, Dean, you—”

But before Castiel could continue, Dean cut him off. “No, but like, you don’t—it’s embarrassing.” He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat. And assessing that Castiel didn’t appear convinced, he added, “I had maybe one meaningful relationship and trust me, it was nothing to brag about. The rest were casual hook ups, very short-lived flings and I—it just never got anywhere. No matter how much I—” He sighed deeply. “And considering my age, I think it’s safe to say that I shouldn’t expect anything different, either.”

“You’re talking like you are ninety years old,” said Castiel, almost laughing.

“Certainly feels like it sometimes,” he muttered.

Castiel pursed his lips at Dean’s comment. He took a moment to weigh in on his choice of words. “Look, I—it may feel unlikely right now, and perhaps it is, but I don’t believe you are the reason for it. I fear that people’s comments have impacted you even more than you realize. You are aware of their influence,” he added quickly, “but I don’t think you know how deep it has gotten to you. That might be why you’re comparing yourself to everyone. I know it’s nearly impossible to not do so, but comparing yourself to others never helped anyone. So, like I said, you should really give yourself a break. There’s nothing wrong with you, Dean.”

Overwhelmed by everything Castiel had just told him, Dean took a moment to digest everything.

“Was my comment misplaced or—”

“No. Far from it. Actually, I—” he paused, reflecting on it all. “I—thank you for saying that. I honestly can say that no one ever said it like that. It was…Are you like a therapist or something?”

“I—no, I’m an accountant.”

Dean blinked. “Oh, that’s cool.”

“Not boring?” asked Castiel, amused by his reaction.

“No, just…I didn’t expect that. You’re, like, super insightful and you don’t seem the type,” he said, gesturing at him. “Of course, that’s a totally unfair assumption based on your clothes. And a wrong one at that, obviously.”

Castiel chuckled. “It’s funny you say that as I don’t typically wear—well, any of this. Suits are more my style. But since I’m on vacation, I thought I should indulge in something else.”

Dean nodded, and tried very hard to not picture Castiel in a suit.

As he was positive that he must look very dashing.

Especially considering he already looked attractive in shorts and a bright blue t-shirt.

“The thing is—” began saying Castiel, but having a change of heart, he bit his lips and did not finish his sentence.

“What?”

Silence.

Determined to make him understand that he was all ears, Dean then remained quiet and simply observed him with attention.

And finally, under Dean’s watchful gaze, Castiel caved in.

“Okay, it’s silly. But I—I have this blog,” he began to say. “Like…an advice column.”

“Why do you say it’s silly?” said Dean, smiling brightly at the thought. “I think that’s awesome.”

Castiel bit his lips. “You think so?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you enjoying doing it?”

“I am,” he said shyly. “It wasn’t what I had planned to do, but…yes, I’m surprised how much I like it.”

“And how did this happen? And what’s the name? _Dear Cas_?” Dean blurted out excitedly, before letting him answer his first question.

Castiel shook his head, tittering. “No. I actually used a pseudonym. Emmanuel.”

Dean let out a short laugh.

“Daphne picked it,” added Castiel. “She always insists that I have a way with people, but I don’t know. I suppose it’s easier with the blog because I can take my time reflecting on my answers instead of real-life interactions. But even then…”

Now remembering the notes—the _thoughtful and kind_ notes—which had exuberated patience and consideration from their author, paired up with the most compassionate pep talk he had ever had, Dean agreed wholeheartedly with Daphne.

“Um, I’m having difficulty believing that you aren’t great at this,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Can you tell me where I can find it? Your blog, I mean.”

Castiel made a face.

“Please? I really want to see it.”

“All right,” said Castiel, after a moment of hesitation. “If you promise to not judge me too much.”

“I won’t. And I’m sure it will be awesome,” said Dean, immensely looking forward to it.

Castiel assured Dean that he would send him the link once the power was back, and they then continued the rest of their meal discussing lighter topics. Dean was surprised to learn that Castiel had rode all the way into town, particularly given the intense heat records they were plagued with. He immediately told him that if he ever needed a lift into town or back home, to let him know.

“I’ll certainly keep it in mind if it gets to be too much. Thank you.”

They slowly began bringing the empty plates and leftovers back inside to put it away. And just as Dean was debating if he should get himself a second helping of pie, the power returned, making them both jump at the sudden sound of the electronics and appliances turning back on.

They laughed at their fright for a few seconds, and with his hand on his chest, Castiel then felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“All good?” asked Dean, as he noticed Castiel staring at his phone.

“Yes. It’s Daphne. She hadn’t been able to take my call earlier today so we had agreed for a later time tonight.”

“Say no more,” said Dean, stepping away from the counter. “Perfect timing, too. With the power and everything.”

“You don’t have to go,” said Castiel.

“It’s all right. I do feel bad leaving you with most of the dishes though.”

Castiel maintained that he would be just fine now that the power was back. And so, they agreed to call it a night for now, as they both cordially mentioned that they had enjoyed each other’s company. As promised, Castiel sent the link of his blog to Dean, and they decided, for practical purposes, to exchange phone numbers as well.

They wished each other good night and Dean reminded him to stop by if he needed anything.

To which he agreed.

Crossing the small gap in-between their houses, Dean couldn’t help but assess how incredibly lighter he felt now, compared to his nervous state hours before. Despite their rocky start, to Dean’s fault and shame, he was extremely happy that Castiel had been kind enough to have given him a second chance.

And also, that he himself had swallowed his pride and made the effort to reach out to him. He found himself very lucky to have met him and he was looking forward to their next interaction.

And so, the first thing Dean did the moment he arrived home was to turn on his computer, and check out Castiel’s blog, just as he said he would.

_Emmanuel’s._

And he started reading.

All night long.


	4. Chapter Four: Rainy Days

Despite having enjoyed their Thursday night meal, Castiel and Dean didn’t get to see much of each other over the next few days. Castiel waved at Dean in the mornings when, while eating his breakfast, he would spot him walking to his car to go to work. And Dean also nodded at him from his kitchen window late at night when he noticed him turning off his lights, as he was getting ready to go to bed.

Their lack of interactions wasn’t due to indifference, but rather a matter of a heavy workload for Dean. After all, working long hours wasn’t usually a problem for him considering that nobody else was dependent on his schedule, and more importantly that he loved what he was doing. Even if the long hours got to him eventually, Dean rarely minded.

But once again, he was granted with a few surprises that tempted him once or twice to return home slightly earlier than usual.

Dear temporary neighbour,

I meant to bring you some of our leftovers from the other night, but it appears that I managed to eat it all before I got to do so. My apologies.

In my defense, those burgers were cooked to perfection.

The bright side, however, is that now we’ll have to do this again so I can make it up to you.

Let me know when.

Castiel

Dear temporary neighbour,

Since you’ve told me of the other residences around the lake, I’ve been curious to take a look at them. It dawned on me, however, that it might be incredibly nosy of me. As a resident, I feel like you would know best.

(Also, I remember that you said that old Sinclair across the lake lives year-long on his property like you do. Will he see it as bothersome if I knock on his door for a chat? This behaviour is highly unlike me, by the way. I think it’s the town’s friendliness that is affecting me somehow.)

Castiel

Dear temporary neighbour,

Is it me or was it particularly quiet last night? It was almost too quiet to sleep and I then had the very bad idea of starting to read a new book in the middle of the night and ended up finishing the whole thing in one go. I’ll have to pace myself or I’ll need to visit Devereaux’s bookshop more often than I had planned.

Any recommendations?

Castiel

Dean had no idea why Castiel had continued with the notes. Their original purpose, being a tactic used to entice Dean into speaking to him, had succeeded. With the both of them on speaking terms, he hadn’t expected him to continue with that endeavour.

But Castiel did. 

And just like the previous week, Dean grew eager to find the next note waiting for him at home.

As much pleasure as the notes had brought him, however, it had been nothing like the comfort and fascination he had felt when he began reading Castiel’s blog.

There was no point in denying it: he was impressed.

Even though his interaction with him had been brief, Dean could actually detect Castiel’s persona through his answers. The voice and genuine concern _Emmanuel_ wrote with in his replies sounded exactly like the same courteous, non-judgmental and kind insight Dean had been treated with since Castiel’s arrival.

Nobody could fake compassion and understanding to that degree.

It was authentic.

He wasn’t preachy. He wasn’t discriminatory. He wasn’t arrogant. And he wasn’t sugar coating it, either.

He seemed to tackle a multitude of issues, personal and miscellaneous ones alike. He was upfront when he wasn’t overly familiar with the subject. He always offered additional help. He was comforting, even funny sometimes.

And his answers were always lengthy.

It didn’t matter if the advice seeker had written a message of two sentences, or twenty times that, Castiel was generous with his answers. As though he had really taken the time to reflect on their questions, instead of answering with a quick response that anyone could have come up with to move on immediately to the next person.

He cared.

That much was obvious.

Dean’s interest in the blog grew rapidly, and once he found the archive section, he nearly became obsessive about it. Within a matter of days, he checked out the blog every time he could.

During his lunch break at the garage, when his co-workers were heavily discussing their weekend plans, he had his eyes glued to his phone, tuning out everyone around him.

When he was waiting in line on a coffee run.

And even late at night, when the sun was down and the air had cooled off a little, so it was bearable to stand by the stove and cook himself a quick late meal.

The subjects were often recurring (namely the topics about families, relationships and careers) and Dean never grew tired of it. On to the next.

It was like devouring the words of wisdom he never knew he had needed.

His only grievance was that the archive section could solely be navigated via subject matter instead of having the option to explore it chronologically.

He deduced that it must facilitate the search for people who had a specific issue in mind.

Browsing through the numerous letters may even be enough to find the answer they were hoping for.

That and perhaps Castiel hadn’t foreseen the possibility that someone might wish to simply scroll through the entirety of his responses.

Or look for his very first one.

Just out of curiosity.

But since Castiel’s responses weren’t dated either, it was then impossible for Dean to pinpoint the one that started it all, even if he managed to read every single one of them.

Thus, he concluded that the only way to find out would be to ask Castiel himself.

And on Thursday morning, the opportunity to do so finally occurred.

The heavy rainfall began tapping against his windows a few minutes before he was to leave for work.

While he was glad that the rain was bringing a respite from the burning sun, he nevertheless groaned at the sight as he knew the rain would not only be a short relief, but would also most likely increase the humidity in the air afterwards.

He sighed, grabbed his keys and a jacket to cover himself and made a run for his car. Once settled inside, he wiped his face and took a moment to listen to the rain. It was pouring, but he couldn’t discern any thunder yet, which he thought was encouraging. He then glanced at the house next door.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel was not performing his yoga routine on the patio on that particular morning. It was slightly difficult to make out given the rain, but as far as Dean could see, Castiel didn’t appear to be in the kitchen, nor was he in the living room. In fact, the house was dark and dormant.

Worried that he might have been the victim of a power outage again, Dean debated for a short moment if he should check up on him.

And after a peek at his own house, where everything seemed just as it had been moments ago, he concluded that perhaps Castiel had simply decided to have a lazy morning in bed due to the grim weather.

So, not wishing to disturb him, Dean told himself to leave him be and planned to send him a quick text later in the day if the weather were to worsen.

He didn’t have to wait too long for an update, however. On his way to work, he eventually spotted a cyclist on a bright yellow bike up ahead and knew right away who it was.

Careful to not scare him, Dean slowed down to make sure Castiel could see him as he got closer, and pulled over by the side of the road once he had passed him. He pushed the passenger door wide open and a completely drenched Castiel appeared.

“Get in,” Dean said to him. “Before you catch your death.”

“But my bike,” argued Castiel. “I’ll be fine. I don’t have much left before I reach the town and the rain is not cold.”

“Are you nuts? No. We can put your bike in the trunk. That’s all.”

And a few minutes later, after they had fitted Castiel’s bike in the back even with the trunk door still slightly open, Castiel and Dean were then seated in the car, drying themselves as much as he could with small cloths that Dean had kept for emergencies.

Dean figured that he could always change once at the garage, but Castiel was another story. His shorts and blue t-shirt, down to his shoes and socks, were completely soaked. He might as well have jumped directly in the lake at this point and it wouldn’t have made any difference. And Dean feared that a cloth would do very little to help his situation.

“Um, fancied fresh air that much, Cas?”

“Not really, no,” he said, chuckling, as he ran the cloth down his neck. “Last night, I learned that the weather might not be agreeable for the next day or two, so I thought I could do a quick grocery run and stay put while it passed. Unfortunately, it appears that the rain caught up to us much earlier than expected,” he said, gesturing at himself.

“You should have asked me for a lift,” said Dean. “I offered, as I recall.”

“I know. I should have. You’re right. But I honestly thought I could make it to town before the rain reached us.”

“Okay, well, just so we’re clear,” said Dean, slowly yielding the car back on the road, “no matter the weather, you can ask me for a lift, no problem. Especially if it’s raining cats and dogs, and you’re in need of groceries. All right?”

He glanced in Castiel’s direction, and under his serious stare, Castiel nodded at him. “All right. I promise I’ll ask next time.”

“Good. Now, I can bring you to town, but what about coming back?”

“Perhaps I’ll wait a few hours until the rain subdues.”

“And if that doesn’t happen?”

“It’s a good thing the rain won’t make me melt, then.”

Dean shook his head.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.”

Pursing his lips, Dean said, “How about you stick around town until the rain calms down like you said, and if it doesn’t, you call me and I’ll bring you back? I—it will be tricky, but I might be able to make it back and forth around lunch if you don’t mind waiting until then.”

“I can’t make you come all the way back home just for that,” said Castiel, laughing. “It’s _rain_. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s already bad and it could get worse. And what about lightning? Here, in the middle of nowhere, it can get dangerous. I really don’t think you should take the chance, Cas.”

After passing the cloth over his face again, Castiel sighed, looking at the road ahead.

“Fine. If the weather remains the same, I’ll wait for you. But not during your lunch break,” he added urgently. “I don’t think that’s fair for you. I’ll wait until you’re off work.”

Dean frowned. “But that will be the whole day.”

“Then, I’ll just wait the whole day, that’s all. I’ll tend to the groceries later in the afternoon.”

“But—”

“And in the meantime, I’ll explore the town some more, find myself a nice coffee shop or restaurant and wait it out.”

“The whole day?”

“I have my book,” he pointed at his drenched backpack, “and I was planning on getting myself new ones anyway. Rainy days are perfect for reading. Doing that at the house or at a restaurant, as long as it’s indoors, I’ll be fine with it.”

“Uh-huh. And what about your clothes?”

“They will dry. I’ll—I swear Dean, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait out the storm and if nothing changes, I promise I’ll wait for you until you’re done for the day. No problem.”

Dean began giving Castiel a few recommendations on where to go. He was delighted to learn that he had already stopped by _The Roadhouse_ , and informed him that his favourite coffee shop was _The Garden_ , which was just a few streets from his work.

“Don’t let the name fool you. It’s great. Joshua has the best coffee.”

He also made sure to mention that if _The Garden_ was too full, as it often happened during peak hours, _Mick’s_ was the next best thing.

“You might like this one even better,” he said. “It’s kind of a coffee place and a library all at once. It’s literally made to loiter. Well…sort of. Anyway, it’s only a few blocks past _Redfield’s Food Market_. You can’t miss it.”

“Terrific, thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out.”

Glad to be helpful, he was now looking forward to hearing about Castiel’s day, making him almost wish that the rain wouldn’t stop.

And that was then Dean was reminded of another topic altogether that he had been eager to discuss with him. Keeping his eyes on the road, he said, “Cas, I—I meant to tell you, I looked up your blog.”

“Yeah?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And?”

“I love it.”

“Really? You—I don’t sound too preachy or repetitive? I’m always worried I do.”

“No,” pressed Dean. “I didn’t think so. At all. I—I really love it.”

Desperate to not sound too eager, Dean took a moment to weigh on his next question. With only the sound of the wipers quickly sliding over the windshield filling in the silence, he cleared his throat as he shifted on his seat. “And, um, when did you start your blog?”

“Just over a year ago.”

“Wa—really? That’s more recent than I thought.”

“How so?”

“I—I, um, I don’t know. For some reason, I was sure you had been doing this for much longer. And, um, what was—I mean, I know you said your fiancé gave you the idea for the blog, but was there a specific reason behind that? Like was it something you always wanted to do?”

“No, and that’s not exactly how it happened. I—she gave me the idea for the blog, but the—turning it into an advice column was not at all what I had intended.”

“Which was what?”

“I wouldn’t say a form of journaling or—but something like that. Nothing too deep. Just trying to reflect on my days while remaining positive, you know? And one day someone left a personal question in the comment section. I tried to answer it as honestly as possible. And then it happened again. And again, and the next thing I knew, for some reason, a lot of people started to seek advice about personal stuff. I just continued answering and eventually turned the blog into that.”

“Huh. That’s cool,” said Dean, glancing at him. He was now more than ever intrigued by Castiel’s very first response. Since Castiel had himself broached the subject just a moment ago, Dean judged that it wouldn’t be too random of him to ask.

And yet, for some reason, he couldn’t find the will within himself to do so. Instead, he said, "Well, as long you’re okay doing that, I’m glad it worked out.”

There was a short pause, and then Castiel said, “Yes. I’m surprised by the outcome, but I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s great.”

And with that, they moved on to another topic of discussion for the rest of the ride: namely, Castiel’s notes. But only too briefly as they finally entered the town, and soon reached Main Street, near the fountain, which had been where Castiel had requested to be dropped off.

Castiel thanked Dean immensely for his help and promised to give him an update later on in the afternoon. They waved each other goodbye, and after Dean watched Castiel tying his bike to a parking meter, right before entering _The Garden_ , knowing that he was out of the rain, Dean then went about his day and headed to work.

As the rain remained and grew in intensity, he tried his best to not constantly check on his phone.

The day felt slow and somewhat grim, and with no messages from Castiel, Dean worried that he had simply returned home, despite the poor weather conditions.

To his great relief, however, he received a text message from him in the late afternoon, informing him that he was still in town. They agreed to meet at the _Redfield’s Food Market_ , and less than an hour later, Castiel was back in the Impala, with his bike and groceries in the trunk.

“Got everything you were looking for?” asked Dean.

“Yes. Even a little more than I planned since I didn’t have to limit myself to what would fit in my backpack. I should be good to last until next week, no problem.”

“Awesome. Glad I could help.”

Dean fixed the wipers to a lower pace as they soon passed the last few houses within the town limits, which then offered nothing but tall and thick greenery for them to see.

“So, how was your day? Not too boring, I hope?”

“No, on the contrary. I always love exploring the town. I must admit that the weather kept me slightly more grounded than usual, but it’s okay. I still managed to check out a few spots. Including _Mick’s_ , by the way, which I really enjoyed. Thank you for the tip.” 

“No problem. I had a feeling you’d like that one,” Dean said, smirking.

“I do have one question, however.”

“What’s that?”

“I—so, I was at the market and I noticed there were many items from this—I think it is a local company? Or a brand? I’ve never noticed it before and it was advertised everywhere. I tried to check on my phone, but I barely found anything online besides mere mention on tweets. Which I find curious.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called _Banes & Banes_. I bought a few items out of curiosity.”

“Oh,” said Dean, chuckling. “The twins’ business. Of sorts. They—Alicia and Max Banes, they’re Tasha’s twins. She’s the best caterer around. Her kids started expanding a bit, which I have to say, I’m kind of impressed. They even created a local food festival a few years ago. It’s on every weekend in the summer.”

“Really?” said Castiel. “Including this year?”

“Yeah. I think it’s in Styne, the next town over, for the next two weeks though. They decided to change the location every once in a while to maximize access for everyone.”

Castiel nodded quietly. “When will the festival occur here?”

“It—it already has,” said Dean, nearly apologetic. “It will come back, but only at—only at the very end of the summer.”

“When I’ll already be gone,” said Castiel. “How far is Styne from here?”

Taking his eyes off the road for a second, Dean glanced at him and the next thing he knew, he said, “We could go this weekend if you want.”

Castiel blinked and stared at him. “You mean—”

“I’ll drive you. _Us_.” And then he added quickly, “If you want. You don’t have to. I—I just thought…I actually didn’t get to attend the festival when it was here back in May. I figured I’d wait until the end of summer, but if you want, it would be cool to check it out somewhere else too.”

Castiel, still staring at him, remained silent for a brief moment. “I’d love that, Dean. You sure you won’t mind though?”

He shook his head. “I offered, Cas. It would be cool. I haven’t been there in a while. We’d be there in an hour, tops.”

“All right, then,” said Castiel, smiling brightly. “This weekend. Which day works better for you?”

“I have the weekend off. So, either Saturday or Sunday is good with me. You?”

Castiel tilted his head a moment, weighing his options, and said, “I think I’d prefer Sunday. It sounds silly to say, but it will give me the proper time to catch up on my, um, overdue replies for my blog. I’ve been taking it easy over the past week and if I don’t get back at it, the situation will soon be out of control.”

“As much as I’d hate to see that happen,” said Dean, “you are on your vacation too, Cas. You’re allowed to take a break. That’s the whole point, ain’t it?”

“You’re right,” he said, sighing. “But I feel like I’ll be more at ease with a bit of the workload taken care of. I’m not sure why, but people tend to write more as the weekend approaches. So, that way I’ll certainly stress less about it and be able to enjoy Sunday freely.”

“It doesn’t have to be this weekend,” said Dean with a look of concern. “I can’t Friday night, but any time next weekend could be okay too.”

“No, I like your idea. Sunday would be perfect.”

“Awesome.”

And with that prospect in mind, Dean felt a smile form itself on his lips.

Which was quite something considering it involved him voluntarily attending one of the big, crowded events that he always made a point of avoiding.

He wasn’t about to share that detail with Castiel though and contented himself with the fact that for once, he felt enthusiastic about his weekend plans.

After all, the festival concerned food. And while it still involved local folks, it wouldn’t be in the dead center of Tulpa, thus reducing the chances of typical overwhelming personal chatter.

Unfortunately for them, however, the weather turned out to be most unkind in the following days. The Thursday rain continued well into Friday, as well as the rest of the weekend.

Throughout Saturday, Dean, catching up on boring house chores, like laundry, dishes, washing and vacuuming, spent most of his time glancing out the window in the hope of seeing that the rain had finally stopped outside.

But no such luck.

All he could do was wait and cross his fingers that the weather would settle by early afternoon the next day, regardless of what the weather network reported. He figured that they were never too reliable anyway.

But he let out a groan of disappointment when he woke up the next morning and could still hear the rain pouring. Nevertheless, he waited. He continued his morning just as planned. He showered, got dressed, and ate his breakfast. He checked his emails and fixed the cupboard door that needed tending.

As most of his morning went by though, it was evident that the rain was being obstinate and wasn’t going anywhere.

Of course, even if it was raining, he reasoned that he and Castiel could still follow through with their plan. The festival would most likely carry on. But the storm wouldn’t make the experience very pleasant for them and they certainly wouldn’t be tempted to stay for very long.

Thus, once noon was almost there, with a heavy heart, Dean made a run for Castiel’s door in the hope of agreeing on another day for them to visit the festival.

“Sorry. The weather is being so uncooperative,” said Dean, standing in the middle of the kitchen after Castiel had let him in.

“Yes, I noticed,” laughed Castiel. “But don’t worry. We can just go another time, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. If you still don’t mind driving us there.”

“It’s no problem,” Dean assured him. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“Me too. Where will it be next weekend?”

“Same place. That works with you?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Awesome.”

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, until Dean realized what he was doing and said, “All right. Um, I guess, I’ll leave you to your stuff.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

Dean froze. “I—I don’t have to. I—I just assumed since we weren’t going to the—that you had planned your whole day. I see you made yourself a cup of coffee and you were probably going to continue with your blog replies.”

And Dean certainly didn’t want to get in the way of that progress, as he was eager to read his newest answers.

“I wasn’t actually,” said Castiel. “That was just earlier. I know it’s not what we had agreed on, but we could still do something this afternoon if you want?”

“You sure? I—I don’t want to mess up your schedule or—”

Castiel waved his hand at him to make him stop. “I was very productive in the last two days. I haven’t gotten around to posting everything I’ve done yet, and I still have a lot to do, but I did good. Enough that I wouldn’t feel bad about doing something else today. And I think I need a break anyway. So, I know that, given the weather, we can’t do much, but I’d be up for some talk over coffee at the very least, if you feel like it?”

Dean agreed without hesitation.

At first, the conversation was a bit awkward. Dean asked him a few questions about the responses he had been working on from the day before, desperately trying to not be too nagging about it, and yet, Castiel answered every question, with enthusiasm. And Castiel inquired a bit more about Tulpa which he seemed utterly fascinated with.

Dean couldn’t understand why, as it was simply a small town, like so many others around, but it was obvious that Castiel was growing fond of it rather quickly.

Eventually, when it was time for a refill, Dean tended to the coffee, and while Castiel busied himself with selecting a few snacks for them, he was then hit with an idea.

He informed Dean that he had found a set of backgammon in the living room buffet a few days before.

“I had put it aside, because…well, I couldn’t really play on my own.”

Neither of them had played since their childhood, so it took them a moment to remember all the rules. But after a quick search online, they decided to go for it.

And soon, they had fresh coffee, their snacks, and were ready to begin their first game.

The first of many.

While playing, Dean was delighted to entertain Castiel with additional anecdotes about the past summer tenants. His favourite had been the one about a young couple who had gone a canoe ride purposely without oars.

That one was always a crowd pleaser when Dean told it.

“What do you mean ‘on purpose?’”

“Oh, because they thought they wouldn’t need them as they weren’t planning on going ‘anywhere,’” he said, gesturing with air quotes. “And if that’s not dumb enough, they then stayed in the canoe for hours because neither of them wanted to get wet. Yes, that’s right. Not because they couldn’t swim or anything like that. Because they didn’t want to get wet. _On a lake_.”

“What?” said Castiel, nearly choking on his drink.

“Yup. Their canoe drifted close to the Avilas’ house. They were lucky they were there that weekend. They heard them screaming for help and went to check on them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I was at work when all the excitement happened, but the Avila siblings sure had fun telling me what had happened.”

“I bet.” And after he finished chewing on his cracker, Castiel added, “What did they do after?”

“They didn’t venture too far after that. They just stayed on the patio taking in the sun. Listening to really annoying music, but yeah.”

They pursued the rest of the afternoon in that fashion, laughing over coffee as Castiel was beating Dean at nearly every game, until they finally realized it was almost seven and they ought to eat something other than pistachios and crackers.

Because of the heavy rain, they opted to not touch the barbeque this time, even if the humidity was high, and neither of them were in a hurry to stand in front of the stove.

But they set up additional fans to help the air circulate and began having a look at what they could prepare. Based on the contents of Castiel’s fridge, they settled for tacos—rather _unconventional_ ones at that—which took them an extremely long amount of time to prepare since they kept adding ingredients. But they still ate every single one of them with appetite and eagerly returned to their game.

While Castiel was still massively in the lead, Dean was slowly catching up to him, after winning a few games in a row.

Without Dean’s notice, time flew by, much like their first evening together. 

It wasn’t until very late in the night, when the grim daylight had already vanished, that Castiel abruptly stood up from his chair and kept still.

Listening.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dean.

“Do you hear it?”

Dean paused in turn and paid close attention of the sounds around them, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“What is it? I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s it. _Nothing_. The rain finally stopped.”

Grinning at each other, they rushed onto the patio to assess the situation. The smell of wet grass and the stickiness of the air immediately hit them. By some miracle, the annoying mosquitoes didn’t appear to be around.

And no more rain drops falling.

Happy to finally be able to enjoy the outdoors, they grabbed two folding beach chairs from the patio and settled themselves onto the dock.

“I meant to ask you,” said Castiel, “how did you find this place?”

Dean smiled. “It was my grandparents’ place. We used to come here all the time for my birthday. I have no idea why, but I always loved the place and I guess Granddad knew, so he left it to me when he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I—given Donna’s story, I figured it must have been something like that as well, though I was hoping it would have been under better circumstances.”

“Thanks. But it’s okay. It was a long time ago. Just before I turned twenty. I was debating if I should try the whole college thing or not. I didn’t really want to. I felt perfectly fine working at the garage, and when I got the house…I took it as a sign. And I don’t think anything could beat this place.”

Castiel turned his gaze on the dark lake and took a deep breath. “I think you might be right about that.”

And they remained quiet for a long time, just listening to the peaceful silence.

Inhaling the fresh air.

Feeling the sweat of his back stick to his shirt.

And focusing on the faint breeze brushing against the leaves.

Dean was accustomed to this ritual.

And rare were those who didn’t mind abiding by it. People needed to fill the silence. Needed something to happen.

And there was Castiel, simply sitting there and staring blissfully at the dark lake with no apparent issue with this situation. Not a single person came to Dean’s mind who would have been comfortable with this. Except perhaps Sam.

Biting his lips, Dean looked in front of him, trying not to dwell too much on the matter and enjoy their quiet moment instead.

The heat was slowly rendering him sleepy, but not in an unbearable way. And just as he was tempted to sink into his seat and let himself doze off, he heard Castiel stir next to him.

Despite the darkness, with the lights from the porch Dean could discern Castiel standing up and stretching out his arms and legs. And then, to Dean’s surprise, Castiel took off his tank top and started undoing his shorts as he freed his feet from his flip flops.

“Um, Cas? What are you doing?”

“Going in the water. You should, too.”

“What? I—no offense, but I think I’m too old for skinny dipping.” And then the moment he had said it, he bit his lips and said, “ _Wow_. That’s where am I now? _Too old for skinny dipping_. That is depressing.”

Castiel let out a laugh. “Well, that makes two of us. Not skinny dipping. Just a quick swim with boxers on. See,” he said, stepping in front of Dean.

And he was indeed still wearing his briefs.

And it took Dean a moment before realizing that he was staring.

“I’ve been doing this every night since I got here,” Castiel informed him.

“Really?” said Dean, stunned. What had surprised him wasn’t the midnight swim. The renters _always_ went for midnight swims, but they usually grew tired of it after the first few nights. It wasn’t very difficult to know as they were rarely _quiet_ about it.

And this was the main reason why Dean was shocked at this information: that he had never heard him. Not a single time.

“I didn’t know you did that.” And before he could stop himself, he added, “I never noticed.” He bit his lips and shut his eyes for his slip up. Worried that Castiel might then feel as though he had been spying on him—which he absolutely _hadn’t_ —Dean anxiously glanced at him.

Thankfully, Castiel didn’t seem perturbed by his comment.

“That’s because I didn’t want to disturb my neighbour,” he said in a playful tone. “I was very discreet.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he scoffed. “Okay. I deserve that.”

“Come on,” said Castiel. “It’s honestly my favourite part of the day.” And without further ado, he rushed to the lake and plunged into the water.

But Dean remained seated. He let Castiel have his fun, watching the water wavering for a few minutes, until Castiel eventually returned next to him, dripping wet. He put his top back on and dropped on his seat, as he exhaled loudly.

Dean, amused, said, “You all right?”

“More than all right. God, the water is so good. There is honestly nothing like it. Especially in this weather. It’s the only way I’ve been able to sleep properly.”

Dean had to admit that Castiel had a point. After all, he remembered doing the exact same thing in his first couple of summers when he had moved here.

But with time, just like the renters, he had eventually stopped. He doubted that it was because the novelty had worn off, though. It was most likely an issue of time, he had thought.

After his long shifts at the garage—especially when the renters were present—a quick swim hadn’t been his top priority. 

Except for when Sam and Jessica were visiting, Dean didn’t really do much of anything about the lake. He preferred enjoying the _view_ of the lake from afar than the lake itself.

Which he realized was nearly criminal since he _lived_ there.

Castiel exhaled loudly and turned to him. “I tell you, Dean, this place is spoiling me. I don’t know how I’ll be able to function without it when I leave. The lake is just…it’s perfect.”

Dean nodded, happy that Castiel was enjoying his stay.

And then he thought of something.

“What if I tell you that that’s not even the best spot around,” he said, pointing at the lake.

“What do you mean?”

“I know of another one—another lake—even better than this one.”

“Not possible.”

“It is. It’s even more secluded, but not—not hidden. It’s—I don’t know how to explain it. But it’s really cool. The water is clear. There is a small beach. And for some reason, there is almost never anyone there.”

Castiel frowned. “And where is it? Please tell me it’s not far away.”

“It’s—actually, it’s not far from the festival.”

“Really? Do you think we could do both next Sunday or that’s just too greedy of me to ask?”

“No,” said Dean, chuckling. “That would be awesome. It’s on our way there. Okay—we’d have to do a slight detour, but yeah. Maybe we hit the festival first and then stop by the lake on our way back?”

“Sounds like a plan of action.”

They both laughed. They stayed still for a moment, until they heard distant thunder coming from their left.

“Huh. Looks like the storm isn’t quite done yet.”

“A short break I guess.”

Not wishing to get caught in the storm once more, they quickly grabbed the chairs and brought everything back onto the patio.

Castiel, with his flip flops and shorts in hands, stood in front of Dean by his door.

Where they stared at each other.

“Well, um, thank you. For today, I mean,” Dean said. “I know it wasn’t what we had planned, but it was pretty great.”

“Absolutely. I certainly enjoyed the company.”

“Cool. Same.” Dean cleared his throat and said, “So, next Sunday?”

“Next Sunday.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Silence.

“All right. Well, um, night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

And after looking at each other for a long minute, without knowing why, they then hugged each other.

A little longer than they should have, perhaps.

Enough for Dean to feel his heart racing.

And it was awkward.

But they finally separated, waved at each other with shy smiles and quietly went their separate ways.

When Dean was back at home, he fetched himself a cold beer from the fridge and leaned against the counter as he processed what had just happened.

It didn’t take him very long to state the obvious.

He found his neighbour attractive.

Well, _fine_ , he thought.

Technically, that had always been the case. The fact was that Castiel _was_ handsome.

That didn’t mean anything.

There were many people that Dean found attractive.

Castiel just happened to be within his vicinity.

As well as gorgeous, charming and kind, but Dean preferred to not digress towards this type of thinking.

The awkward moment—or his minor change of behaviour—was not cause for alarm.

It was a perfectly normal reaction. One that would soon pass.

And while that was what he repeated to himself for the rest of his night, as well as the days to come, little did he know how terribly wrong he was.


	5. Chapter Five: Fancy Meeting You Here

Given his first impression of Dean, Castiel had been floored by how open and trusting Dean turned out to be with him on their barbeque night.

Of course, Castiel was always surprised when someone was reaching out to him in such a personal way.

Even with his blog, it still stunned him every time. Mainly because, except for very close friends, no one had ever just walked up to him and shared personal details.

And never mind _asking for his advice_ on it.

But Dean had.

And he had done so even before he had learned about the blog.

He had done so in good faith.

And Castiel had not been able to stop thinking about it.

That whole night had served as a validation of his choice of residence for his vacation.

He was glad to have met Dean and he was relieved to know that someone nice, just as Donna had promised to him, was a few feet away.

Castiel’s first week hadn’t been awful. Far from it. Unwinding by a gorgeous lake, not rushing out of the door every morning and breathing in quality air like never before didn’t leave Castiel much cause for complaints.

But he knew he was still adjusting to the place.

If he was to be left completely isolated from everybody for more than a month, he wasn’t sure he would be able to tough it out for the rest of his vacation. While he was convinced that he could never grow tired of the serenity the place offered, eventually the need to see a friendly face would no doubt become vital.

But now, with funny and honest Dean nearby, things were looking up.

Their barbeque night had been pleasant. Their car ride had been informative.

But their rainy Sunday…

They hadn’t done anything extraordinary. They hadn’t felt like they needed to constantly talk or entertain themselves.

They had simply spent a quiet rainy day together.

It had been a cozy, heartfelt quality time together.

And looking back on it, that day had meant a whole lot to Castiel.

Perhaps more than he would like to admit.

And then… there was the goodbye hug.

Yes.

The _hug_.

He wasn’t sure why, but in a matter of seconds their smooth day had suddenly turned awkward.

He then began replaying key moments of their day and wondered if he had misunderstood certain things.

Or worse, if the faux-pas had been done by him without realizing it.

Misleading Dean or creating weirdness between them was the last thing Castiel wanted. Especially since they seemed to get along so well.

So, wanting to remedy the situation and ensure that their day wouldn’t be spoiled by its last moments, he decided to leave a note on Dean’s doormat early in the morning.

Dear temporary neighbour,

Thank you again for yesterday. I had forgotten how meaningful and diverting board games could be. Let me know if you’re up for a rematch, rainy days or not.

I am looking forward to the festival and stopping by the lake you mentioned. What is it called? I’m intrigued. I’m having difficulty believing that it could beat the one I’m staring at right now, but I suppose I’ll have to wait and see.

I hope you have a nice day.

(It looks like the rain will finally end later today!)

Castiel

Writing that one short note had been a struggle for Castiel. He rewrote it many times. He constantly changed the order of topics. He doubted every word.

And he didn’t like this one second.

But finally, once he concluded that he was probably overthinking it, he put his pen down, read it one last time and hurried to Dean’s porch, passing by the Impala, before he would change his mind.

He didn’t knock or ring the doorbell.

Nor did he hear any commotion inside when he had reached the front door.

Judging that Dean was either getting ready for work, or even still asleep, he left the note on the doormat, just as he usually did, making sure to be quiet and returned home promptly.

He did not sit at his kitchen table. Given everything, watching Dean find the note felt like a bad idea, so he grabbed the book he had begun two nights ago and a large glass of water, and installed himself comfortably in his bed.

With the bedroom being on the other side of the house, there was no way for him to accidentally stare at Dean.

And just for precaution, he remained in that spot until almost lunch time.

He spent the rest of his day quietly. He worked on his responses for a few hours during the afternoon. And went for a short walk when it appeared that the rain considerably subdued.

He had been nearly dozing off on the comfy couch when he heard the Impala approaching. He slowly sat up after he heard the car door shut.

And found Dean standing beside his car, staring straight at him.

Not knowing what else to do, Castiel waved at him.

Dean laughed and waved at him back, before slowly heading to his house.

And Castiel let himself fall back on the couch, relieved that he had maybe overreacted.

This ease of mind, however gratifying, turned out to be short-lived.

On the next day, with a bright sun shining above, Castiel was eager to head towards the town after being cooped up in the house for the last few days. 

He brought his laptop with him in the hope of answering the numerous messages left in his blog inbox. Working at a public place might end up being too distracting, but he had managed to read just fine most of the Thursday afternoon before at _Mick’s_ , so surely it would do as well today.

The road leading to town was empty and quiet as ever, and though it was still taking he nearly an hour before finally arriving at his destination, he at least noticed an improvement with his physical state over the last week.

Muscle aches and fatigue remained, but it wasn’t as strenuous as it had been on his first journey.

Which was immensely encouraging.

He passed by the quaint houses near a park. He rode by the town’s only school, which was obviously empty due to the summertime. Not long after reaching a flower shop, he turned on Main Street, which displayed a little more activity, and yet, was still very calm in comparison to the big city busyness he was accustomed to.

He was tempted to rest at _The Roadhouse_ when he noticed the numerous empty tables still available, but resigned himself to keep to his original plan and head to _Mick’s._

Lunchtime was still a couple of hours away, but it would get here fast and Castiel deduced it may be less noisy in a coffee shop than in a pub.

The coffee shop was a pure gem anyway. Dean had been right about his recommendation.

The place was modern, with large front windows welcoming in the sun. The armchairs were soft and comfortable and Castiel thought the small wooden tables added warmth to the environment. Decorative plants were on the wall next to the counter, and on the other side of the shop, bookshelves entirely covered the wall.

And the customers were allowed to freely grab any book they desired.

An idea that Castiel had found very clever, not to mention generous, of the owner to do so.

Despite the shop’s usual busyness, Castiel succeeded in securing himself a table by the window, and after purchasing himself a coffee and croissant (for a late snack), he set up his computer and started browsing through the series of new emails.

Juggling the blog with his typical schedule at the Adler Accounting Corporation had been tricky at times.

But he had kept at it and had been amazed how he still succeeded to find the time, even if it seemed impossible to do so.

Needless to say, since he had arrived at the lake-house, his free time had exponentially increased. And while he had taken it easy during his first week, the rainy days had helped him get back into it.

He had been very productive.

Usually, he could maybe get through one or two replies per day. Four if he wasn’t too tired. The most he had done in one day had been six messages, but it had occurred only once and it had been on a night when he had battled with insomnia.

Whenever that would happen, he always reasoned that it was far less frustrating to simply get out of bed and try to do something productive rather than stare helplessly at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

If it did at all.

But now at the lake-house, being confined indoors because of the weather and with his sole neighbour gone to work for the day, replying to six letters on a daily basis was not a problem at all. In fact, in the few days that he had returned to it, he had not only been able to increase his number of replies, but he also found that he was able to give more wholesome, detailed and even lengthier responses than before.

He was aware that this streak wouldn’t last once back home.

But might as well enjoy it while he could.

So, he took a sip of his coffee and focused.

Siblings rivalry. Grief. Unemployment. Heartbreak.

The coffee shop became extremely crowded after only an hour of his arrival and Castiel barely took note of it. He was deeply invested with the emotional messages that people had written to him and when he felt that some demanded more care and reflection, he would highlight the parts that had struck him the most, took a few notes and then moved on to another one to let the previous one sink in.

This method, though probably better from an ethical point of view, was also considerably slowing down his pace. Simply reading the messages was as captivating as it was often overwhelming. It was easy to lose oneself to it, and that day had been a prime example of that.

It wasn’t until he took hold of his coffee cup for another sip, only to find it empty, that he realized hours had passed and he was now well in the middle of the afternoon already.

He repositioned himself on his seat, put the cup aside and fetched his water bottle from his bag, took a sip and was ready to continue.

However, his concentration came to a halt when he noticed Dean was at the counter.

He finished paying for his order, seized his coffee and Danish, and hurried towards the door after saluting the cashier.

“Dean, wait.”

He froze on the spot at the mention of his name and, after scanning the crowd quickly, his eyes finally fell on Castiel.

Dean nodded at him awkwardly. He remained still for a few seconds, as though he was debating if he should leave or not, but then took a step towards him.

“Someone was eager to come back here, I see,” he told him teasingly.

“Well, you were right. This is a really fun spot.”

Castiel then gestured for him to take a seat. He didn’t think Dean would take up his offer, especially after he glanced at the door, but he stepped forward and joined Castiel at his table.

“I won’t be able to stay long,” he told him. “I just needed a break.”

“That’s all right,” Castiel assured him. “I just wanted to say hello.”

And they stared at each other.

Awkwardly again.

He cleared his throat and said, pointing at his laptop, “I liked the one you posted yesterday. The one about the guy who wasn’t sure what to do about his job and his dad.”

Castiel blinked. “You still read them?”

“Of course,” said Dean, frowning. “I’m super invested now. It’s like, you’re spoiling me. It’s becoming a daily thing.”

“That’s—thank you. I’m happy to know you enjoy it.”

Dean nodded and shifted his gaze to the left as though he was avoiding Castiel’s eyes. He twisted the base of his cup nervously.

Which worried Castiel.

Their non-verbal greeting from the night before had led him to believe that there hadn’t been any awkwardness between them, despite their hug.

But with Dean fidgeting in front of him, Castiel was forced to conclude that something was off. Not wishing to aggravate the situation even further, he briefly pondered if he should mention it.

“ _Well,_ _hello, there!_ ”

Dean and Castiel both jumped at the sudden intrusion. An elderly woman, who was curiously wearing a thick cardigan despite the summer weather, stood next to them. Castiel shot a questioning look at Dean, only to watch him harbor an odd smile the moment he realized who was next to them.

“Hey, Mrs. Carrigan. Um, how are you?”

“ _Mrs. Carrigan_ ,” she said, laughing. “It’s _Madge_. You know that. I’m doing well, thank you. And hello,” she said to Castiel. “I’ve heard you were Donna’s renter this year.”

During his first week after his arrival, Castiel had learned rather quickly that most people were aware of his identity. Some had been eager to share a few words, while some had contented themselves with a warm smile from afar.

Given how socially invested Madge appeared to be, Castiel found it shocking he had managed to escape her so far.

“Yes, that’s me, ma’am. I’m Castiel.” They shook hands.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard all good things. And I see you’re even making this one socialize.” She lifted an eyebrow. “That is quite the exploit. Which reminds me, Dean, dear?”

“Huh-uh?”

“Sue-Ann told me that Bess said that you haven’t RSVP’d to the party on Thursday. You’ll be there, right?”

“Um—I—I’m—”

And he stopped talking under the stern look that Madge was giving him.

“The answer is ‘yes,’ dear.”

He sighed. “Yes. I’ll be there. Tell Bess and Garth I will.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and you are more than welcome to join us too, Castiel.”

Stunned, he said, “Thank you.” He paused a moment and then added, “May I ask what is happening on Thursday?”

Madge let out a short laugh. “So _silly_ of me. Bess Myers and Garth Fitzgerald got engaged a few weeks ago and the town is throwing them an engagement party. It will be at _The Roadhouse_ , of course, come anytime you want.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you to include me. I—I wouldn’t want to intrude though.”

“Nonsense! Everyone would be happy to see you.”

“All right, then. I’ll be there as well. Am I required to bring anything in particular?”

“Yourself, dear. That’s all.” A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she shifted her gaze onto Dean. “In other news, do you know who was just asking me about you the other day?”

Dean bit hard on his lips and shook his head.

“Richie.”

Dean frowned for half a second and then leaned his head backwards.

“Mrs. Carrig—”

“ _Madge_.”

“Madge. I—I know where you’re going with this, but—”

“He’s always spoken well of you,” she continued, cutting him off. “And _always_ had a soft spot for you since all these years ago.” She then turned to Castiel and said, “I’m not exactly sure what happened. From what I gather, Richie came to Dean’s rescue and _someone_ has been a little shy about it ever since.”

“What?” said Dean, shifting in his seat. “I’m the one who saved his fuc—”

“ _Dean_ ,” she warned him, with her index lifted.

“His, um, I’m the one who saved his—his fudging ass. Me.”

“Well, he seems to disagree. But you know what could fix that?”

“What?” said Dean cautiously, as though he already knew her answer and didn’t like it one bit.

“Richie.”

“Um, but—”

“And guess who is _just_ entering the coffee shop?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What?” He twisted on his seat.

And following Dean’s gaze, Castiel noticed a man wearing a polo shirt and cargo shorts, with a hat on, standing at the entrance.

Waving at them with a smile on his face, he strode towards them.

Dean returned to his initial position, shut his eyes for a moment, muttered something under his breath which Castiel convinced was “Fudge,” and then smiled awkwardly when Richie reached their table.

“Hey, Winchester. How have you been?”

“Hey, Richie. Great. I—you?”

“Not bad.”

And then awkwardness in the air multiplied by ten thousand.

“How nice. Well, look at the time,” exclaimed Mrs. Carrigan. “I’m afraid I must skedaddle. See you all on Thursday. You two have fun, and Castiel, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

And then she gave him a look as though she was now handing him control of the situation.

Which made him feel incredibly uneasy.

She dashed out of the shop and all three of them were left exchanging awkward looks.

“So, you’re Castiel,” said Richie.

“Yes. Hello.”

“Right,” said Dean. “Sorry, I—I should have said.”

“No, it’s fine. I—anyway, cool to finally meet you.”

“Same here.”

They shook hands and suddenly, the three of them blurted out an embarrassing amount of gibberish all at once, only to become utterly silent again.

“So, um, Dean,” said Richie, taking a seat after Castiel invited him to join them, “I’m glad I caught you, man. I’ve been meaning to speak to you for a while now.”

Dean smiled shyly and said, “Sorry. Just life, I guess.”

Silence.

“So, he ever told you about the time I saved his life,” said Richie to Castiel.

“No, he did not.”

“That’s not what happened,” protested Dean. And though he seemed rather firm in his statement, a smile at the corner of his mouth was discernible.

“May I ask what exactly happened?”

“It was only a couple of months after I showed up in town,” said Richie. “There’s this town event in the spring. A bunch of local bands perform, typically a variety so everyone is happy. It’s a big thing.”

“It usually lasts a weekend,” added Dean.

“In a quiet town like this one, it’s awesome,” said Richie. “So, on that Saturday night, we got this great country band, which I have no idea what it was called,” he turned to Dean for assistance, but he shook his head, not remembering the name either. “The crowd loves it. Loads of people. It’s late. Most of them are somewhat tipsy.”

“And that’s usually when people start making dumb decisions,” said Dean, grinning.

“Speaking from experience?” said Richie in a playful tone.

“You wish.”

“Hey, I’m just telling it how it was. So, anyway, you get the gist,” he told Castiel. “I’m at the bar, which is set up outside near the designated dance floor, and there’s this gorgeous guy who was insisting on buying me a drink—”

Dean scoffed. “What? No, he wasn’t!”

“He totally was. But we get disrupted because a few feet away there’s some poor schmuck,” said Richie, tapping on Dean’s shoulder, “who made the mistake of hitting on the wrong girl, and the next thing we know, her boyfriend comes in, giving us a demonstration of what a possessive ass he is. The boyfriend is freaking out and it’s clear that this one is about to have his ass handed to him. So, I did what anyone else would have done, I stepped forward and helped him out of that jam.”

“Seriously?” Dean was chuckling. “That’s what you think happened? I think you remember the story how you wanted it to be, Richie, because you got it all wrong. It was _you_ who was hitting on the girl, not me. And while she sincerely didn’t seem to mind at first, her tune changed when her giant boyfriend came out of nowhere to brush you off. He hadn’t been rude,” said Dean to Castiel, “but the message was clear. That would have been the end of the story. But _you_ ,” he said, pointing at Richie, “then decided that you weren’t really picky, so you said, and I quote, ‘I’m into couples too, you know?’ The guy was built like a freaking house and he wasn’t in a laughing mood. That’s when _I_ stepped in before he broke you in half.”

Richie shook his head in contestation to Dean’s version, while they laughed heavily with each other.

Castiel, remaining silent and witnessing the exchange between the two, had to admit that the camaraderie was hard to miss.

And more than just _camaraderie_.

“That is an impressive imagination, Dean.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about. It was the other way around, no buts about it.”

Richie was about to protest, but then shut his mouth. And a cunning smile appeared on his lips. “If that’s the case, then it means I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I insist. So, how about we do something about that on Friday night.”

Dean bit his lips and lowered his eyes a moment, weighing on Richie’s proposal.

With Castiel holding his breath to hear his answer.

“I—I don’t think I can on Friday.”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded quietly.

“All right. I’m gonna hold you to that, Winchester.” He saluted them both and after a warm smile aimed at Dean, he then stood up and began heading towards the door.

“Wait. Weren’t you getting something,” said Dean, pointing at the counter.

“I tried to.” He winked at him and stepped outside.

Dean shifted on his seat and looked at Castiel shyly.

“So, he seems nice,” said Castiel. “Are you going to accept?”

Dean stared at him a short moment and then shook his head.

“Why not?”

Dean bit on his lips and shrugged. “I—I don’t really feel like it.”

And in that moment, quite inexplicably, Castiel was relieved. The tension in his shoulders decreased, his grip on his cup loosened and his left leg stopped twitching, which he hadn’t even noticed until that point.

And before he lost himself into deep reflection as to why he felt that way by that fact, he blurted out, “Fair enough,” and gave Dean a quick smile.

Dean leaned back on his seat and was looking straight at him. As though he was waiting for him to say something.

“What’s the matter?” asked Castiel.

“Nothing. I—I just assumed you would insist that I take him up on his offer.”

Castiel frowned. “I can’t tell you what to do. Nor do I want to tell you what to do, Dean. Particularly about this.”

And Dean did nothing but stare at him.

“What is it?”

Dean hesitated a moment and said, “Is it—if I was one of your readers, is that what you would have said?”

Castiel felt his heart racing.

Based on what he had just witnessed, and on what he knew of Dean, the answer was simple: No. He wouldn’t have insisted that Dean accept Richie’s invitation, but he certainly would have encouraged him to do so.

Because he seemed kind.

Because Dean evidently liked him.

And because Dean should stop fearing failure at every corner.

And yet, the words could not be uttered.

Castiel shifted on his seat, and thinking fast, he heard himself say, “Like I said, that’s only up to you, Dean. But I—I don’t think you should completely dismiss him just yet.”

Dean nodded absently and added nothing on the matter. His phone buzzed, announcing that he needed to head back to work. So, he thanked him for the chat, wished him to have a nice afternoon.

After Dean had left, Castiel was not able to be very productive. His mind was everywhere, unable to focus properly. He found himself staring at his screen blankly, reading the same sentence four times in a row and still not making any sense of it.

And most importantly, he had zero input to share.

None. He kept changing messages, thinking that perhaps he was simply spacing and that the answers and inspiration would come to him eventually.

But it didn’t.

And the more answers were failing him, the more doubts and frenzy crept into his mind, and by the end of the afternoon, Castiel was ready to jump out of his skin.

Nothing, however, was as worrisome as to the reason _why_ he was feeling that way.

And that worry—that nagging feeling spreading slowly in his mind—stayed with him for the rest of the day.

When he returned home after finally calling it a day.

When he was overseeing his vegetables over the stove.

And when he quietly headed towards the lake for his late swim.

And couldn’t help but glance at Dean’s house, almost hoping to find him at his window.

But the house was dark and calm.

So, Castiel took a deep breath, dipped his feet in the water, and soon, let himself float, cooling off his body.

And his mind.

Parked in front of _The Roadhouse_ on Thursday evening, Dean couldn’t believe that he was in the exact position he had tried to avoid a few weeks ago.

If not worse.

Large gatherings celebrating national holidays were one thing.

But _engagement partie_ s were another.

They had their own category and brought an entire set of problems along with them.

He hated saying it, but they were the worst kind.

The only reason why he was going through with this was because he genuinely loved Garth and Bess, and wished to express his support to his friends.

That and he knew that he would never hear the end of it from Madge and the rest of her group if he didn’t show up.

So, reluctantly, he did.

And before entering the premises, he boosted his morale by reminding himself that all he needed to do was to keep to his usual plan.

Get in. Chit-chat with a few people. Taste the food. Make sure to circulate the room so numerous eye witnesses can vouch his attendance.

And when a respectable amount of time has passed, leave.

Earlier if needed.

He looked around with a slight abhorrence at the sight of all the other vehicles already present, took a deep breath and stepped out of his car.

Much like on the Fourth of July, _The Roadhouse_ had been decorated for the occasion. A large banner, with “Congratulations!” written on it, hung above the bar and the entire wall next to the stage had been plastered with pictures of Garth and Bess throughout the years. Two long tables at the back of the room displayed a panoply of tasty appetizers, and of course, the happy couple in question was seated onstage, talking and waving people hello.

And after he gave them a warm smile, which they returned, Dean didn’t waste any time and immediately dashed towards the layout of food. He nodded shyly at the few people he met on his way, even took a moment to exchange a few words, made sure that Madge Carrigan, who was in a deep conversation with poor Jody Mills, spotted him before he would casually retreat to the other side of the room.

He scanned the place quickly for Sam and Jessica, but it seemed that they had not yet arrived.

So, he turned his attention to the food, hoping for a short distraction. Most of it was pastries, but after a quick glance, Dean discerned that the other end of the table offered snacks with a little more sustenance.

Like sweet potato chorizo cheese balls, avocado fries, and crispy sriracha spring rolls.

And just as he was about to reach for one of the cheese balls, he nearly ran into someone standing next to him.

“Crap. Sorry,” he blurted out. “Didn’t see you.”

“In your defense, they do look delicious.”

Dean froze for an instant and then looked properly at who was standing next to him.

And once he assessed who it was, it took everything he had to not shamelessly gasp.

Castiel, it seemed, had taken Madge’s invitation to heart.

And not only was he present and seemed perfectly happy to be there, he had also dressed up for the occasion.

Not extensively, but considering that since he had arrived at the lake-house he had mostly worn summer attire, seeing him in a dashing suit with a blue tie which matched his eyes, rendered Dean speechless.

“Dean?”

“I—hey. You’re here,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“I was invited,” said Castiel, amused.

“Yeah, I meant—nobody would have held it against you if you hadn’t shown.”

Castiel frowned. “Why wouldn’t I, though?”

Dean opened his mouth and shut it quickly. “No reason. Just—anyway. It’s cool that you came. Um, so how long have you been here?”

“Not long. Just over half an hour perhaps,” he said, offering Dean a cheese ball.

“Right. Not long.” He picked it up and looked at the food again. “How did you—”

“ _Well, well_ …look who we have here!”

Dean shut his eyes tight at Sue-Ann’s voice. He silently cursed himself for having let his guard down for a moment and slowly turned around to face her.

“Hi, Sue-Ann.”

“Dean, it’s so nice to see you here.”

“Same.”

“Madge told me she made sure to tell you to be here, but we were all doubtful you would actually show up.”

“Well, I did,” he chanted, with a fake grin on his face.

“And you must be Castiel,” she said, extending her hand. Castiel shook her hand and gave a nod of acknowledgement. “It’s so nice of you to join us as well.”

“Happy to be here.”

For half a second, Dean almost contemplated taking this opportunity to discreetly walk away while Sue-Ann was distracted with Castiel. Although he was sure she and the rest of the gossiping squad wouldn’t be as harsh on Castiel than they usually were on him, he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon him to the wolves like this.

So, against everything he stood for, Dean stayed put.

Which he regretted five seconds later.

“So, _Dean_ ,” said Sue-Ann in a dramatic tone. “When will we ever be able to throw you one of these parties?”

And there it was, thought Dean.

The annoying wave of judgmental questions, which he did not have any answers to.

“Can’t say that I know that.”

“Hmm. Nobody in sight?”

Dean shifted on his feet. “I’m afraid not.”

“How interesting, because I’ve heard someone was looking forward to seeing you here tonight.” And without any subtlety, she turned her gaze to their right and directly looked at Richie who was conversing with a small group, consisting of Kevin, Wally and Rufus.

But he was staring straight at Dean.

Smelling an ambush, Dean felt his chest tightening. He was not in the mood for it.

He was then shortly relieved, however, when Richie simply lifted his drink to him and then refocused his attention to the small group he was with.

“Why don’t you take the time to say hello, dear?” she said. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen you enjoy someone’s company. I’m not sure there’s been anyone since Carmen and—and we just want you to be happy.”

Dean lowered his eyes and nodded, having no clue what on earth he was supposed to say to that.

His appetite now lost, he put down his plate and tried really hard to not eye the exit.

And he certainly avoided Castiel’s eyes.

Sue-Ann remained with them for a few minutes, which she spent—to Dean’s great relief—asking Castiel questions about his stay at Donna’s house.

Dean was half-listening and kept track of the crowd roaming around them.

Sam and Jessica were still nowhere to be seen, and he kept an eye on Madge’s and Stacey’s location, fearing another ambuscade.

When Sue-Ann finally said goodbye, he took a deep breath.

“Dean, are you all right?”

Frowning at Castiel, he said, “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

There was a short pause and then Castiel said, “I—I understand now.” Dean said nothing and simply stared at him, which prompted Castiel to add, “I mean, I understood before, but I—I really get it now. Why you—” and he bit his lips, stopping mid-sentence. He turned himself to look at the room. He remained that way for a long minute as he observed the crowd conversing with enthusiasm. He then turned around, put down his plate as well and said, “Do you want to leave?”

Dean tilted his head as though it was a trick question.

“I—I just got here.”

“That wasn’t my question though.”

Dean swallowed and looked at the room. “I don’t want to be impolite.”

“Did you say hello to the newly engaged couple?”

“Sort of. Probably not as I should have.”

“All right. Let’s do that. And then we can leave if you want.”

Dean pursed his lips.

“You can even say that it’s because of me. I’m tired and I need a lift home. You’re just being neighbourly.”

“You’re tired?”

“Of course not,” he said, laughing. “It’s only eight. Come on.” And he began heading towards the front stage where Garth and Bess were.

And unbelievably, less than five minutes later, Dean was walking out of _The Roadhouse_ , feeling guilt-free. No one tried to stop him. Nobody gave him a look of disappointment. And not one single person called out his name behind him.

And while he still hadn’t managed to spot Sam or Jessica, leaving in that fashion didn’t make him feel like he was avoiding them.

Not believing his luck, he stared at Castiel once they reached the Impala.

“Feeling better?” Castiel asked him, smirking.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re smiling.”

And Dean realized that he was indeed smiling.

“Cas, you—if you want to stay—you don’t have to leave on my account.”

“I don’t mind. I arrived earlier than you did. And I do need a lift home.”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask—did you cycled in that suit?”

And with a deadpan expression, Castiel said, “I do have my bike and…and that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

Dean squinted at him for a second, but then let out a laugh and decided that this was one mystery Castiel was allowed to keep to himself.

And soon, once they stowed the yellow bike in the trunk, Castiel and Dean headed back home. The ride had been quiet with the two of them listening to the radio.

No chit-chat. No inquiry or funny stories shared.

Just the music playing.

While the air didn’t feel uncomfortable, Dean had a strong feeling that once they would step outside the Impala, there would be a distinct shift in the atmosphere, however.

And he was simply hoping that it wouldn’t be disagreeable.

That was more or less what occurred.

After the Impala had slowly turned onto the dirt road, it eventually came to halt, in-between the two houses and facing the lake.

Dean stopped the engine and they both remained seated, staring at the lake.

“Thank you for the lift home.”

“No problem.”

Silence.

“So, um, what’s the plan for the rest of your evening?” asked Dean.

“Nothing much. You?”

“Same.”

Silence.

“I have a few beers in the fridge,” said Dean. “I could grab us a few and play a couple of games if you want.”

Castiel beamed at him. “That would be nice.”

“Cool.”

When they exited the vehicle, however, Castiel suddenly froze as he had another idea.

“What is it?”

“We can still play later on, but…since some of the daylight is still here, would you be okay if we just sat by the lake and talked?”

“Yeah. Sure, of course. So, I’ll get the beers and you take care of the chairs?”

Castiel nodded vehemently and headed towards the patio, dragging his bike next to him.

As for Dean, he remained on his spot for a few seconds, watching Castiel walking away from the Impala.

Trying to ignore the jitters in his stomach.

He turned on his heels and dashed to his front door. He retrieved the beers, laid them on the counter and stared into space.

Doubts.

Fears.

Worry.

He felt like he was right on the edge of doing something incredibly stupid.

Something that he might regret and kick himself afterward for having done so.

He had an idea of what that something might be, of course, but in that precise moment, he was convinced that he would never let it go that far.

Nor would Castiel.

So, he convinced himself that whatever that dreadful feeling growing within him was, it was something else entirely—probably a residual effect of the engagement party, no less—and told himself to get over it.

As nothing was wrong.

Obviously.

By the time he stepped onto his porch, Castiel had already installed both chairs near the dock and was comfortably seated, watching the serene lake before him.

He had also taken off his jacket, as well as his shoes and socks.

“You can go change if you want?” said Dean, handing one of the beers to him once he had reached his side. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you wear something other than shorts. In this weather, it must be a bit much.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Castiel, after taking a sip of his beer. “The jacket was getting annoying, but the cool breeze and beer will help. Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“Me?”

“Jeans? Flannel? _Boots_? I’m—how are you not melting?”

Dean shrugged as he took his seat. “Just used to it, I guess.”

But as they rested quietly, drinking their beers and enjoying the view, the heat was slowly getting to Dean.

It was as though the moment Castiel had made him aware of his clothing, everything became unbearable. His feet felt like lava, jeans were now the most uncomfortable clothing item invented and he could feel the sweat practically dripping down the back of his neck.

Still, he stubbornly remained as is, positive that he was simply experiencing a mild discomfort due to something else entirely.

Until he couldn’t stand it anymore and began untying his boots. And the second his bare feet touched the grass, his frenzy considerably lessened.

And while Castiel didn’t comment on the matter, he in fact kept his gaze firmly focused on the horizon, Dean could have sworn that he had seen a faint smile creep momentarily on his lips, only to disappear as quickly as it had appeared.

They remained in that fashion for some time still, listening to crows flying over the lake, when Castiel repositioned himself on his seat.

And Dean felt his watchful stare on him.

“Dean? Can I ask a question?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It’s kind of a personal one though. And it’s about something I know you don’t really enjoy talking about.”

Dan swallowed. “It’s still okay.”

There was a long pause and he heard Castiel stir on his seat again. “I—I’ve been curious about something. I know how you feel about relationships and I—I’m just—you mentioned one in particular. One that didn’t end well. Can—can I ask what happened?” And before Dean could say anything, Castiel added, “I’m only asking because—because I—”

“What?”

“I suppose I just wanted to reassure you again that there wasn’t anything wrong with you. People break up and I—what you said the other night just stayed with me. And after tonight, I understand how you might feel pressured. And you shouldn’t. So, I thought I—” He let out a deep sigh. “And now I feel like I made it worse.”

“No. No, you didn’t,” said Dean sincerely.

This was not, under any circumstances, a subject that he wished to discuss. Relationships. Matters of the heart. Or in his case, failures…

As he had mentioned to Castiel, Dean wasn’t too keen on discussing such things.

But talking about that one relationship…

It wasn’t an issue that he was bitter about or couldn’t move on from, but just like unpleasant memories in general, no one tended to reminisce on them for fun.

“Um, there’s not much to tell. I—I was dating this girl. Carmen.”

“Carmen.”

“Yeah. She was great. And smart. Beautiful. You know, she had the whole thing. But it—it wasn’t real.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean took a deep breath in.

“The short version is that she wasn’t who I thought she was. She basically played me for a fool. I was just too du—blinded to see it. Too happy to realize that—she worked hard on her image. And she—the point was that she wasn’t who she said she was and that she, um, was with me just because she was trying to prove something to herself. It had nothing to do with me. I—I just happened to be there.”

There was a long silence and then Castiel said, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Didn’t I, though?” he asked. “I don’t know, Cas. I mean, all the stupid red flags were there. Things didn’t add up. And I—I knew it. But I—I ignored it. Because—because—”

“Because what?” said Castiel gently.

Dean swallowed hard. “Because, like I mentioned, up until then, I didn’t have much to brag about in that department. Because for once, it looked like someone was actually interested. Someone who was available and not—that it wasn’t just—” And Dean stopped mid-sentence, letting out a deep breath. “I buried my head in the sand because I was apparently so desperate to have what everyone else claimed they had. That’s—that’s why I don’t push it anymore. With Richie or—anyone.”

“You’re worried you’ll do it again.”

Dean gave a short nod and took the last sip of his beer.

“So? What does _Emmanuel_ think of this?”

“My answer remains the same as the other day, Dean. You must do what you feel comfortable with, not what other people tell you to.”

“ _But_ …”

“But I wish you’d stop punishing yourself. Because that’s what I think you’re doing. Exercising caution is one thing, but not to the degree that it only deepens your misery. And what saddens me the most is that it’s for something that wasn’t even your fault. You may have made the mistake of trusting the wrong person, but considering the alternative, I hope you understand you are not the one who was at fault here.”

Dean let Castiel’s words sink in for a long time.

He knew he was right and he felt better hearing Castiel’s encouraging speech.

But he still felt that nagging feeling.

Like there was still something in the back of his mind that couldn’t convince him properly.

Something was still holding him back.

But he was nevertheless grateful for Castiel’s input as he had no doubt that he had meant every word. So, he kindly thanked him for his support.

Time passed. They quietly watched the sunset, and soon it was almost pitch dark.

Since he had finished his beer, Dean announced that he would fetch a few more for them—annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner—and asked Castiel if he wanted something else as well.

Castiel told him that he wasn’t famish and that another beer would be most welcomed.

When Dean returned to their spot, carrying a six pack with him, he froze as he saw Castiel untying his tie.

“I give up,” he said to Dean. “The heat is too much. I thought I could bear it, but can’t stand it anymore. I’ll just be a minute,” he said, pointing at the lake, while he was unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

And once again, wearing only his briefs, he advanced on the dock and plunged into the water.

While it was still dark, this time around, the stars and the moon were shining high above them, making it possible for Dean to watch Castiel much more properly than he had a few nights ago when it had been overcast.

Dean took a deep breath.

He hesitated a moment.

And then laid the box he had been carrying on the ground and imitated Castiel. He lost his shirt and pants, and keeping his boxers briefs on, he slowly headed to the dock.

And without further ado, Dean jumped into the lake.

The water was cold. Not as brutally as he had feared, but cold nonetheless. After the initial shock though, he felt his body relax, and he reached the surface. He took a deep, satisfying breath.

And found Castiel cheering from the shore, as he had already sufficiently cooled off.

Dean took the time to savour the water for a few moments and eventually returned to Castiel’s side, where he was waiting for him, sitting on the grass, with a beer in hand.

“I couldn’t really see properly, but from where I was standing, I’d give you a soft eight for the form, Dean.”

“ _Ha-ha._ Thanks.”

“Refreshing, no?”

“It certainly helps lower the body temperature, that’s for sure,” he said, putting on his top as well.

“God, this is just perfect,” said Castiel. “I’d never tire of this.” He lay himself on his back.

Dean, still seated, with one knee against himself, turned around to look at him. Unsure if it was because of Castiel’s wet skin, or perhaps the angle in which he was positioned, but Dean’s eyes lingered on Castiel’s body more than ever.

With one leg bent upwards, Castiel was simply lying on the grass, both hands resting on his side, his eyes shut, and taking deep breaths.

He seemed completely relaxed, ready to simply drift off for the night under the stars.

And because he had put on his top right after stepping out of the water, it was glued to his body, making it possible for Dean to clearly have an idea of his shape. His lean. Muscular. Shape.

More than just an idea.

And before Dean knew it, his eyes, after lingering extremely long on his torso and arms, had now reached Castiel’s waist.

And his crotch.

Dean immediately moved his eyes away and stared at the lake.

Not that he had been able to see much of anything, given the dark color of Castiel’s underwear, but it was the principle of the thing.

And yet, he had looked.

Which wasn’t a crime, Dean argued.

But now, he felt odd about it.

And it was even worse when all he wanted to do was to turn around and have another look. A _better_ look. Not to Castiel’s groin per se, but rather…at _Castiel_.

Castiel let out another deep breath and sat up again. Dean cautiously turned towards him.

“I think that’s it for me,” said Castiel. “I should head back or I’ll just stay here until morning.”

And with this, Dean felt his heart racing, as he held his breath and pondered on that possibility.

As his eyes instinctively fell on Castiel’s lips.

The temptation of simply reaching out.

How easy. Simple, really. Sliding his hand on his stomach. Lying next to him. One quick stolen kiss in the dead of night.

To taste his lips.

Any other day, anyone else, there wouldn’t have been any better occasion to do so.

And Dean panicked in that moment.

This was it.

The goddamn moment when everything changed.

The one when he knew things were officially complicated for him.

Because he liked him.

He liked Castiel.

He did more than just _like_ him, in fact.

He fucking wanted him.

And he dwelled on that thought a little longer than he should have, as Castiel frowned at him, saying, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

And Dean forced the thought out of his head as fast as he could.

He cleared his throat, stood up and quickly wished Castiel goodnight, after thanking him one last time for their evening.

Castiel did so as well. And although his expression remained the same, Dean couldn’t help but feel like his internal freak out had offended Castiel.

This was not what Dean wanted, but in that exact moment, he had to leave before doing something he would regret.

_Something stupid._

He hurried back home, as calmly as he could, and once home, he shut his door, did not look out the window and dashed towards his bed.

Staring at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat race, Dean whispered to himself, “Fuck.”

After a long night of restless sleep, Dean had made the decision of going to Castiel’s before leaving for work.

While he couldn’t explain everything, he could at the very least make sure that Castiel didn’t think he had done anything wrong.

After everything the man had done for him, the last thing Dean wanted was to make him believe that.

He strolled down his porch, past his car and towards Castiel’s porch. Taking no notice of an important detail.

The ground was dry. And while it wasn’t particularly sunny, Dean could feel that the day would feel heavy as the leaves remained still as stone.

He awkwardly knocked on Castiel’s door, eager to see him. Hoping that he wouldn’t be vexed with him.

And while it turned out that Dean’s fears were unfounded, another problem surfaced.

Castiel was not the one who answered the door.

Daphne was.


	6. Chapter Six: Visitors

As Castiel lay awake in his bed, on the morning following their midnight swim, he felt doubts creeping within his mind about many things. About himself. About his life. About what to do.

That was not uncommon, however. This had been his case for the past few years now.

But something was different.

Something had happened.

Something had shifted.

He didn’t know what it was.

He didn’t know if it was good or bad.

But something had changed.

And all he wanted to do on that particular morning was to reach out to Dean.

Which, of course, brought its own set of questions and complications.

Nevertheless, the way the night had ended had left Castiel uneasy and he wondered if what he had initially feared—namely him crossing a line without his knowledge—had come to pass.

Frustrated by the situation, he got up when it was still dark and wrote another note to Dean.

But he struggled this time. Words were escaping him, and the more he was having difficulty putting it on paper, the more aggravated he became.

While he had experienced writing blockage before, something told him that this was different.

Determined to write his note, however, he continued as best he could until he heard a car slowly turn onto the dirt road.

And he gasped when he recognized the car.

He quickly seized his pieces of paper and shoved them in his computer bag, before meeting her at the door.

“Daphne.”

“Hi.”

“Come in,” he said, opening the door for her once he realized he had been staring. “Sorry, I’m just—hi!”

With a shy smile, she stepped in.

He kissed her on the cheek, as he gave her a warm hug.

Once they broke apart, Castiel, without even asking her, went straight away to the cupboard and grabbed two tea bags, after putting a kettle on the stove, knowing she would prefer tea over coffee in the morning.

“This is very you,” he heard her say behind him.

He turned to her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“This,” she said, gesturing to the room, as she smiled at him. “It feels like you.”

“It does?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

She nodded and lowered her eyes.

Still surprised by her sudden visit, Castiel said, “Daphne, did something happen? I thought—you said that—”

“I know. I wasn’t supposed to come here until a week from now…”

“I don’t mind that you’re here. That’s…that’s not what I was referring to.”

She took a deep breath and sat down at the table. “I, um, I know what we had both agreed on…and that I was the one who had brought it up in the first place…but it’s just…”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t heard much from you this past week and…I—I don’t know. I felt like I needed to see you. I’m—I’m a bit confused, I think.”

And in that moment, Castiel had to admit that she wasn’t the only one. Still waiting for the kettle, he joined her at the table and reached out for her hand.

“You were right,” he said calmly. “What—what you said about us? You were right. We-we—this—us—we never really were….”

“In love.”

“And now, we—we just have to decide how we move on from here. If we work on mending what needs to be fixed or if we—if—”

He ran his hands on his face. Even if they both knew the most likely outcome, this was not how he had wanted to discuss the matter. Luckily, the alarm on his phone rang. He shut it off quickly and Daphne was smiling fondly at him. “Even on your vacation, you really can’t let it go.”

“I’m just used to it,” he admitted. “I should probably take a shower. Keep an eye on the kettle and we’ll make breakfast once I’m done with my shower?”

“I’ll make us something since I arrived here unannounced.”

“All right,” and he stood up, knowing full well Daphne did not need any directions in a kitchen, and headed towards the bathroom.

“Wait, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Um—I—I feel silly saying it, but it—is it okay if I stay for a few days? I—”

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “You were supposed to be here in a week from now anyway should your schedule have allowed it.”

She nodded. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He frowned. “There’s no need for that. I—unless…”

“I don’t mind either way. I—God. I hate this. Walking on eggshells with you feels so wrong.”

“I know what you mean. Though, if I have to be honest,” he said after taking a deep breath, “I much prefer us being overly cautious than just, um, mad at each other.”

“Don’t think that would be either of us.”

“You might be right about that.”

They smiled shyly and then Daphne told Castiel to go take his shower.

It didn’t take him long, and yet, by the time he showed up into the kitchen, the aromas of cinnamon toast, eggs and possibly potatoes (judged Castiel) were already mouthwatering.

“How did you do this so fast?” he asked, turning the corner. “I was gone like not even five—”

And he froze on the spot.

When he found Daphne sitting at the table with Dean.

“Morning.”

“Hey, Cas.”

“Your very kind neighbour stopped by,” Daphne said, as she stood up to get Castiel a plate and signaled him to take a seat.

“Daphne, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly. We were waiting for you,” she said. “Dean, here, wanted to check if you needed a lift to town.”

“I hadn’t noticed Daphne’s car so…”

“That’s still so nice of you,” she told him, and then turned to Castiel. “He was going to leave, but since I was already making breakfast for us, I thought he could join us. You could take the car if you want, but I just thought since he went through the trouble of asking…might as well wait for you.”

“Um, I wasn’t planning on going today. But I agree, you should stay for breakfast if you can.”

Dean gave him a silent nod and said, “All right, then.”

Unsure why, Castiel felt anxiety spread throughout his chest. Daphne was her good old self, and even though Dean appeared relaxed, Castiel couldn’t help but feel like there was a distinct vibe of awkwardness roaming around.

And it probably had a lot to do with the fact that Dean was averting his eyes.

Which was a troubling fact for Castiel.

He took a seat at the table and soon all three of them were eating their breakfast. Dean was amiable and talkative.

But something was off.

Or perhaps it was all in Castiel’s head and this whole situation only appeared that way to him because he was the one who felt awkward in this setting.

And if that was the case, that was even more worrisome.

As there was no reason why he should be.

None.

The chit-chat between Dean and Daphne was pleasant. And when the conversation moved on to their favourite letters from Castiel’s blog, which he found both touching and awkward considering he was sitting right in front of them, he grabbed everybody’s plates to signify that they all needed to carry on with their day.

Dean thanked them for the meal, greeted Daphne again and said goodbye to Castiel, letting them know that they should do something soon.

And he left the house with a smile on his face, which Castiel couldn’t help but think that Dean seemed a little too happy. It was, after all, very early in the _morning_. And he knew how Dean felt about mornings.

The moment Dean left, Daphne turned to Castiel and smiled gently at him.

“So, that’s Dean.”

She hadn’t meant it angrily or with reproach, just as a matter of fact.

And it hadn’t been until that moment that Castiel, under his oldest, most respected friend’s stare, couldn’t deny what had been eating him inside.

“That’s Dean,” he said, defeated.

“He’s nice. I like him,” she said kindly.

Castiel swallowed hard.

“He doesn’t seem to know about us though.”

“I haven’t told him. Because I was supposed to come here to—there was no reason why he should have known.”

“But that’s not the case anymore.”

Suddenly panicking, he cleared his throat and added quickly, “Daphne, that’s—you know that’s not why I came here, right? I really—nothing happened, I—”

“I know,” she reassured him. “But it’s clear that you’re more than just tempted by the possibility.” She stepped forward and, after giving him a warm look, she continued, “Cas, if that’s not a big indication of what we already knew and what we should do, I don’t know what is. And that’s okay. I think we waited long enough.”

They stared awkwardly at each other for a long minute, letting sink in what had just happened.

“I feel like I have to apologize,” he said.

“Absolutely not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Be that as it may, this isn’t how I thought it would end, you know?”

There was a long pause, and then Daphne asked, “What are you going to tell him?”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

“But you are going to tell him, right? About how you feel?”

And Castiel’s sole response was a long sigh.

When Dean had found Daphne answering the door instead of Castiel on that morning, it had felt like a punch in the gut.

At first, he tried his best to remain positive and accept this as a good thing.

Daphne, who was incredibly nice, was perhaps the reminder Dean needed. After all, it wasn’t as though he had forgotten about the fact that Castiel was engaged. Nor had Castiel hidden it. Nor had he openly flirted with Dean despite it all.

Because he had not. If anything, Castiel had been nothing but a good, supportive friend to Dean.

And Dean truly believed he wished him well.

If Dean found him attractive and had let his feelings get the better of him—again—that hadn’t been Castiel’s fault.

It had been his own.

And he wasn’t about to ruin Castiel’s life over it—especially since it was one sided, as it usually was the case for him when romantic entanglements were concerned.

So, he finished his breakfast, remained as casual as he could, and gladly left when it was time to head for work.

Another problem surfaced for him when he came back from work later that night, however. For nearly a week, Dean, without ill intentions, had ignored his brother’s calls.

He hadn’t been in a talkative mood, so he had let it go to voicemail, telling himself that he would return his call later on.

But he never did.

And by Friday night, Sam had had enough of Dean’s avoidance and simply showed up at his door just as Dean had finished supper.

“Sam? What—what are you doing here?” 

“Finally,” he said, bursting in. “Dean, I was getting worried.”

“Why? I’m—”

“Why aren’t answering any of your calls?” said Sam, cutting him off. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you since Sunday and nothing. Not even a text back.”

“Sam, I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His brother let out a deep sigh of relief. “Dean, I—please, don’t do this. I get that life gets in the way and all, but this is extreme even for you. I was worried because the last time you did this was when the whole thing with Carmen had happened—”

“I’m fine,” repeated Dean, trying to convince Sam as much as himself. “I—I just lost track of time, I guess. Nothing is wrong.”

“Okay. I believe you. I just—please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.” They nodded awkwardly. “Great. Now that that’s out of the way, do you want to sit down? You’re right, it’s been a while. Want a cup of coffee? I have leftovers, too.”

“Coffee is good,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

Dean poured coffee into a mug, as he said, “So, how are you? How’s Jess?”

“She’s fine. She says hi, by the way. She wanted to know how you were, too.”

Dean handed him the mug. “Is she still working the night shift at the hospital?”

“Yeah. Her schedule has been stupid lately. Which is why I didn’t really mind pulling extra hours when—”

But Dean never got to know the rest of Sam’s sentence as at that exact moment, someone else had knocked on his door.

Dean frowned.

“Were you expecting someone?”

“No,” blurted out Dean. “I’m shocked you’re here. Never mind anyone else.”

He reached the door and found himself face to face with Castiel.

“Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey. Again.” Mildly confused at what was happening, Dean stepped aside, opening the door to let him in. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Everything is fine. I simply wanted to talk to you about—” and he paused when his eyes fell on Sam. “Oh, you have company. Hello,” he added kindly.

“Hi,” said Sam, curious to know who Dean’s mysterious visitor was.

“Cas, this is Sam, my brother,” he said, gesturing at him, and then, making sure to avoid Sam’s eyes, he told his brother, “And, um, Sam, this is Cas. Castiel. He’s Donna’s tenant.”

Sam’s mouth formed an “O” as though he had understood something. Dean returned his attention to Castiel. “I’ve been a lousy brother and apparently forgot to return my calls, so Sam decided it was time to tell me so,” he joked.

“It’s nice to put a face to a name, Sam,” said Castiel. “Dean has told me so much about you.”

And before Sam could say anything else, Dean asked Castiel quickly, “What were you about to say? Um, before. You said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I—I simply wanted to, um, borrow some sugar. I—I’ve miscalculated and now I don’t have enough to finish my recipe.”

It took Dean a moment before reacting. “Of course,” he finally said once the message had reached his brain. He hurried to his cupboard, fetched his small bag of sugar and swiftly handed it to Castiel.

And while he wished to ask Castiel a few questions—about his day or what he was cooking—Dean nonetheless deduced that it would be best to do so on another occasion, as this was not pressing information.

Also, keeping his mouth shut seemed like a smart idea with Sam watching him like a hawk three feet away.

So, Dean only nodded awkwardly at him.

Needing to return to his cooking, Castiel thanked him, greeted Sam once more, and after waving goodbye to them both, he shut the door behind him.

And Dean couldn’t help himself but to keep staring at the door.

“Holy. Shit.”

Dean snapped out of it and turned to Sam. “What?”

“You like him.”

Dean froze. “What?”

“You like him,” repeated Sam.

Panicking, Dean said, “Sure. I mean, he’s an okay guy.” And he then hurriedly walked away from him, making sure to turn his back to him.

“No, Dean. You like him. Like, you want him.”

“Sam, come on.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“To my face, Dean.”

Dean pursed his lips and shut his eyes for a moment. He swallowed hard and turned around, facing his brother again. Keeping his face as emotionless as he could, he then said, “Cas is a nice guy. We get along. That’s all. And I—I—”

“Yes?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else is happening here.”

Sam was staring at him. “You’re so full of shit.”

Furious with himself to be so transparent to his brother, Dean bit hard on his lips.

“Dean, just say it.”

He shook his head.

“Why? What’s the problem? Just—”

“I can’t, okay! I can’t.” He lowered his eyes to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s pointless. He doesn’t—nothing is going to happen out of this.”

“Um, I think you need your eyes checked because after what I just witnessed, pretty sure it’s mutual.”

“It’s not,” scoffed Dean. “And I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because of—I—reasons.”

“ _Right_. Like?”

“Like he’s engaged. For starters.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but closed it once he processed what Dean had said. He then frowned at him, and now evidently confused, he glanced at the house next door through the window.

“But—no, that—wait,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Deadly. I met her. His fiancé. She’s visiting right now. She’s a very nice woman. Which is—they’re obviously happy. So, I’m not gonna make a fool out of myself to just crash in and ruin everything for them. So that’s that.”

“Okay,” said Sam, reflecting on Dean’s speech. “I—I get that. But—look, I—obviously I’m not suggesting for you to be a homewrecker, but I—I don’t know. Something’s off here. He likes you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You managed to figure this out in the two seconds of interaction you just witnessed, huh?”

“Um, yeah,” said Sam. “Sure as hell figured out how much you liked him, so why not?”

“That’s different. You know me. You just met the guy. How can you possibly—it doesn’t matter,” said Dean, stopping his train of thoughts, as he lifted his hands in protest. “Fuck, why does this shit always happen to me?”

And the moment he had said it, he knew it had been a mistake.

Sam stared at his brother with a concerned look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I—nothing. For—forget it.” He turned his back on Sam, mad with himself. He took a deep, slow breath, and desperate to change the subject, he said, “I’m hungry. Still hungry, I mean. I’ll make something—a bagel. Do you want one?”

Ignoring his question, Sam said, “Why did you say that, Dean?”

“Sam, just—never mind, okay?”

There was a long pause and then Sam asked, “Is this about why you left on the Fourth of July?”

Silence.

“Dean. I know you said you were fine, just like you’ve been telling me since I arrived here, but I know you were upset.”

Dean, still not answering, shoved his bagel into the toaster.

“I asked you what the problem was, as I know there’s been a problem for a while now, but like always you shut me out. I—I’m just a little confused as to what it is. But obviously something’s wrong.”

Dean swallowed hard.

“You _have_ been dodging my calls. And you have been isolating yourself.”

“It hasn’t even been a week. Relax. I was busy.”

“I’m not just talking about this week, Dean. I told you, it’s been going on for some time now. So, when you say things like ‘why is this happening to me’ it worries me, _especially_ since I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sam,” croaked Dean. “Just drop it.”

Sam studied him a moment and then said firmly, “No. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

“No.”

“Dean—”

“I don’t want to, okay? Because—because it’s depressing and just thinking about it makes me feel worse. It’s more than just—you just…you can’t say that out loud. It’s too pathetic.”

“Please, Dean.”

It had been said so gently and caringly, Dean had felt his throat tightening.

“Dean, I—I—help me out here. Real talk. I swear I will listen. No judgment. Ever. I don’t know why you’re so obstinate to keep this to yourself, but it’s getting to you. You’ve been upset and cooped up here for so long. Now, I—I don’t know the situation with Castiel. I don’t understand how this is connected with whatever it was you were struggling with before, but it is. So, please, tell me what’s the problem. The _real_ problem.”

Dean turned around. His eyes were glued on the floor.

“Because it—”

Dean cleared his throat.

Sam, keeping his eyes on him, remained quiet, determined to wait for his brother to speak.

“The problem is that I’m tired. I’m tired of pining in my corner. I’m tired of always ending up in the same situation, times and times again, no matter what I do. Even when I kept things ‘casual.’ And I—I kept thinking that next time I might know better. But I still don’t know fucking better. And it’s never gonna fucking change. This is it for me. This is how it’s going to be.”

“Dean, you can’t think like that. I know you’ve had bad luck, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen for—”

“Stop, Sam, stop,” Dean warned, “I swear, if I hear one more person tell me ‘it’s because it hasn’t happened yet,’ I am legit going to scream. I absolutely hate it when people tell me that.”

“But, Dean—”

“No! No buts. I hate it. I know you have my back and that when people say that they mean well, but it frustrates me so much. What they are actually saying is that it worked out for them, and be that as it may, that does not guarantee that it will also happen for me, unlike what everyone seems to claim.”

And just like that, Dean’s repressed frustration, which had been buried deep down for so long, poured out of him with no signs of slowing down.

“It’s so condescending, especially when it comes from someone who has been with the same person for over ten years. Not everyone finds their better-half as though they had conjured them or something, without any drama attached to it, and when they are barely twenty years old.”

Sam bit on his lips.

“Like…how I met Jess in my first week of school?”

“Sam, you know I’m happy for you. And I’m not an idiot. I know everyone has problems, and relationships have their ups and downs. Okay? I know. Because that’s life. And I’m sure it must be very complicated. But I am so tired of wanting this. Of feeling inadequate because I’m still on the sidelines. Being disappointed because it didn’t work out is bad enough. But then I have to add all the other pressure attached to it on top of it. I’m just…”

“Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

Dean nearly laughed. “Because, shit, you aren’t supposed to say stuff like this! It’s so soaked in self-pity, it makes me sick that I’m even thinking it. So, I—I just…”

Sam pushed his mug, stood up and rested against the counter next to Dean.

“Dean, listen to me. I—all I want is for you to be happy. But not by my standard or anybody else’s. Yours. Whenever I suggested you go out with people, it wasn’t because I felt bad for you or because I thought you _had_ to be with someone. I never meant it as criticism and if I made you feel like I did, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help because that’s what I thought you wanted.” Sam took a deep breath. “And you’re right. There is no guarantee. But that’s why I still think you have to try, Dean. _If_ and _when_ you want to.”

Dean let out a short laugh at his brother’s eternal positivity.

“I’m not saying this out of arrogance, Dean. I just don’t want you to isolate yourself because you’re convinced it’s going to turn bad. I don’t care if it’s just hanging out with friends and co-workers. Just, please, the only thing I ask is that you don’t stay hidden here. Call me or Jess anytime.”

“I will. Call, I mean.”

“Good.” Satisfied with that part of the conversation, Sam then returned to a previous topic. “What are you going to do about Castiel?”

“Nothing. He’s engaged. And even if he wasn’t, he’s still leaving. I just—I just wish that for once, I’d—you know.”

After their heart-to-heart, Sam and Dean then pursued discussing more joyful matters, such as the town’s gossip.

Talking to Sam had helped. Dean still felt down about Castiel and was somewhat embarrassed by everything he had said to Sam, but at the very least, spitting it out had considerably lessened his pain.

He even mentioned Mrs. Carrigan’s awkward set up with Richie. And thankfully, true to his word, Sam did not press Dean on what he was going to do about it. The only thing he said was that he always had liked Richie and had always appreciated their affinity for one another.

That was it. No pressure or comments. Or opinions.

And Dean had felt like he could properly breathe for the first time in a long time.

When Sam had been satisfied that Dean appeared in a much better mood than when he had arrived, he said goodnight to his brother and left for home, making him promise to keep in touch.

The moment Sam had left, however, Dean grew wary about his situation with Castiel.

He figured that distancing himself from him for the remaining time of his stay was the best option to help himself regain his senses.

While this plan had appeared to be fail-proof on paper, following through with it had been an entire other story. The moment he had decided to avoid Castiel, the more he missed him.

Dean spent the rest of his evening browsing through the blog. Part of him was doing so seeking his presence, and the other part was almost wishing to find a compromising answer proving that Castiel was not as amazing as he found him to be.

But since he never found such evidence to support this, reading his words only increased his respect and admiration for him, which worsened Dean’s misery.

His one silver lining, the one that had kept him from completely falling off the edge, had been the notion that Castiel was a temporary resident.

Eventually, he would leave.

Daphne or no Daphne, feelings or no feelings, the fact remained that Castiel was only renting Donna’s house. His days were numbered. In a few weeks, he would be gone.

And if this was how Dean was feeling now, when nothing had even happened, Dean wasn’t too eager to find out how he would feel if something would indeed happen between the two of them.

So, he did as he always did, he tucked away his pain and hoped with all his being that it would pass.

In order to accomplish such a thing, he concluded that he was in dire need of a distraction.

Which was why, in an act of desperation, when he received a random text from Richie renewing his invitation later that night, he accepted.

The date, which occurred on the following night—after a long day spent hiding at the garage—wasn’t terrible. Far from it, actually. Dean had always liked Richie, and while there had been occasions when things had almost crossed the “friendship” line, Dean had never forced the issue.

And as they were sitting there at a pub in town, sharing burgers and laughing away, he could have seen this as a possibility down the line.

But even if he was enjoying himself, Castiel occupied his thoughts.

And just as he was feeling guilty about it, Richie got an emergency work call. The night was late, so Dean severely doubted it was a fake call to get rid of him and it wasn’t very difficult to deduce that Richie felt horrible about it. Dean assured him that it was no problem. He had enjoyed their meal together and he completely understood.

And he had meant it. So, rather abruptly, but still in a kind manner, they quickly said goodbye, with Richie apologizing and promising to make it up to him.

And while Dean hadn’t necessarily been glad of the way the night had ended, the fact that he hadn’t been overly heartbroken about it, suggested that his feelings for Richie would remain just as they always had been.

Thus, he came back home, feeling exactly how he had suspected: depressed and lonely as hell.

That was more or less the typical feeling he was left with after going on dates for the past few years. Even the good ones. The ones that had shown potential.

This overwhelming feeling of dread would swoop in and just wash everything else away in an instant by the time he reached his front door.

Glancing through his kitchen window, every light was turned off next door.

No Castiel typing on his laptop at the kitchen table. Or Castiel cooking a late-night snack.

Or going for his midnight swim.

The house was sleepy and quiet.

Preferring to not dwell too much on what it meant future Mrs. and Mr. Novak were up to, Dean lowered his eyes and headed to bed, dragging his feet.

The morning came by much faster than Dean would have liked. He had passed the entire night tossing and turning. Furious with himself to have yet again fallen for this trap.

“Will I ever fucking learn?” he said to himself.

Feeling like crap, he reminded himself that at least it was the weekend, and if staying at home and doing nothing but licking his wounds was on his agenda, nobody was there to stop him.

With the heat already weighing him down, he stayed in his underwear, and simply put on a thin top after washing his face quickly.

Partially awake, he succeeded in starting the coffee machine, and just as he was about to reach for a cup, he heard knocking on his door.

He frowned. He checked the time on his phone quickly, momentarily thinking he had misread earlier, but no. It was indeed just past seven in the morning. Confused, he walked to his door, wondering who on earth could be there at this hour.

For half a second, because he hadn’t heard any commotion outside (or say, a car), he thought it must have been Castiel, despite his promise to not come by early in the mornings.

But it wasn’t Castiel at the front door.

It was Richie.

Dean blinked.

He opened his screen door, looking at him with extreme puzzlement.

“Richie, hi.”

“Morning, Dean. Please don’t tell me I woke you up.”

Dean frowned, and after looking down at himself, he remembered that he wasn’t exactly wearing pants.

“Um, no. I was already—can you—I’ll just grab something. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone this ea—this morning.”

“No problem. You’re fine as this though, but I’ll wait.”

Dean nodded. He let Richie in, hurried to his bedroom and grabbed the first thing within his reach that could cover him properly, thus making him feel less uncomfortable.

It turned out to be his thin green dressing gown, which he usually did not wear in the summer, but he figured that he would suffer through the extra layer while talking to Richie.

“Sorry about that. Hi. Um, morning.”

“Morning. Sorry to drop in unannounced. I know I should have called first, but I felt bad about last night—”

“Don’t,” Dean assured him. “It’s no problem. I swear I don’t hold it against you.”

“Thanks. But still. That’s not—anyway, I just finished the job, like half an hour ago, still wide awake, and I thought I should come by to your place before I crash.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Um, but like I said, you—it’s fine.”

Richie sighed. And after watching Dean for a moment, he said, “I blew it, didn’t I?”

Dean lowered his eyes. “Honestly? No, you didn’t.”

Richie squinted at him. “I feel a ‘but’ coming up.”

“But,” said Dean, laughing, “but I’m—I hate to say it, but I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t want to say it’s not you, it’s me, but…I’m sorry I wasted your time last night.”

“My time?” Richie said. “Dean, up until I got my stupid work call, no matter what happened, spending an evening with you wasn’t a waste of time.”

Dean nodded, and without further ado, he saw Richie to his front door. Standing on the porch, he said, “Thanks for last night. I—I still had a good time.”

“Same, Winchester.”

And hugged him quickly to wish him goodbye. To which Dean didn't have a problem with.

It simply wasn't the same as it had been with Castiel.

But as Dean was letting go of his friend's embrace, Richie, in the briefest of moments, managed to steal a kiss from Dean. It was over before it had begun, and Dean could only stare at him.

“Sorry,” said Richie. “I—I know there are smoother ways of doing it, but I—I had to try.”

“S’okay. I—I just—”

“I know.” He sighed, gave Dean a polite smile and said, “I’ll see you around.”

Dean nodded.

And as Richie made his way down off the porch, heading to his car, he came across Castiel, who had apparently been on his way to Dean’s house.

Castiel, who had, no doubt, seen what had just happened.


	7. Chapter Seven: Quality Time

After their revelation on Friday morning, Castiel and Daphne spent the better part of their day discussing what they should do next.

What to do when Castiel would eventually return from his vacation?

What about the house?

When would they tell their friends?

And so on.

As they began discussing those details, however, slowly Castiel felt the weight being lifted off his shoulder, and judging by Daphne’s body language, he could tell it was the same for her as well.

The situation wasn’t ideal, of course. The thought of turning the page on this part of his life was still very upsetting. But they both knew it needed to be done.

By settling on the crucial points, however, which was executed with calm and understanding, he found more than just relief.

He also found hope.

Options and ideas about his future that hadn’t occurred to him before began piling up quickly in his mind.

Almost _too good to be true_ ideas.

But tempting enough for him to seriously consider them.

Especially those involving Dean.

And more than simply, perhaps, being with him.

Because the truth was that he liked Dean far more than he had anticipated.

Too much to remain silent about it.

Of course, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He didn’t want to complicate things.

And knowing how Dean felt about that particular subject, Castiel worried about his reaction.

Dean’s general hesitance to get involved with someone wasn’t the only issue. The fact that Castiel’s current place of residence had an expiry date was another, not to mention that an update on his relationship status wouldn’t be the worst idea, either.

But one problem at a time.

No matter what, Castiel needed to be upfront with Dean about his feelings.

Even if nothing would come of it—and considering everything, that was very probable—he still needed to do it.

Otherwise he would regret it.

That had been his intention when he had shown up at Dean’s on Friday night. The moment he realized Dean had been granted a visit from his brother, however, Castiel deduced that it would have to wait for another time. Sleeping on it and having additional time to reflect on the matter—and how to broach the subject—was actually, perhaps, not a terrible idea, either.

So, he blurted out the first excuse that came to his mind and hurried back home, where Daphne was making arrangements over the phone for her to return home the next day.

They finalized last-minute details, promised to keep each other in the loop until the end of Castiel’s vacation, and Daphne left right after lunch on Saturday.

Leaving Castiel with one thing to do.

But Dean wasn’t home and remained gone for the rest of the day. Castiel stayed up and read comfortably in the living room, thus facilitating the task of keeping an eye for his arrival.

By the third time he had to find the page he had been on because the book had slipped from his hands after momentarily dozing off though, he concluded that his important conversation with Dean would have to wait until the next day.

When he wasn’t exhausted and was clear of mind.

And since they had already made plans to spend the day together, at least Castiel didn’t have to worry about Dean’s whereabouts then.

All he hoped for was that an opportune moment would present itself for his confession.

So, early on Sunday morning, after his shower, Castiel let out a gasp once he finally noticed that another vehicle was parked behind Dean’s car.

Wondering who was Dean’s visitor at this hour, he observed Dean’s kitchen window with attention, and while it was considerably smaller than his, he was able to discern a shadow indicating that he was awake.

Castiel hesitated a moment, and then, unable to stop himself, he just stepped outside and went down his porch, towards Dean’s house.

He came to a halt halfway there when he saw Dean step onto his porch.

Dean and Richie.

Dean, unshaved, in his underwear, and rocking the bed hair, _with_ _Richie_.

With the strong desire of retreating back, Castiel still did nothing but remain on his spot and stare.

And then he saw it. The warm hug.

The kiss.

And Castiel stopped breathing.

He didn’t move a muscle.

And simply watched it happen.

Quick words were exchanged between the two, which had been impossible for him to discern from where he was standing, and Richie left Dean’s side and stepped off the porch.

Richie walked to his car and nodded at him once he noticed Castiel’s presence.

Castiel politely did the same and heard Dean call his name.

Looking surprised to find him there, Dean closed his dressing gown and quickly reached his side.

“Morning, Dean,” said Castiel, looking at Richie’s car backing up on the dirt road.

“Hey, Cas. I—what—is everything okay?”

“Yes. Why?”

There was a short pause. “Nothing. It’s just early and you—did you need something?”

“No, I—I was just—I know it’s well before noon, but I only wanted to check if, um, if you were still on board for today.”

Dean stared at him with a look of confusion.

“The food festival? And the—the lake.”

Dean blinked. “Of course! Yes. I—sorry, I’m not really awake yet and I—yes, I’m still up for it. Absolutely.” He then let out an awkward laugh and his eyes kept bouncing back and forth on Castiel and the house.

“Something the matter?” asked Castiel.

“Um, no. I—I’m really glad you want to go today. I—I just hadn’t expected you would.”

Frowning, Castiel said, “Why not?”

“Well, I—I thought since Daphne was here, you’d prefer spending your weekend with her. For, like, obvious reasons.”

And Castiel felt his stomach drop.

He made sure his expression didn’t change and said in an even tone, “Daphne isn’t here. She returned home yesterday.”

Stunned, Dean mouthed a silent, “Oh,” as he shifted on his feet. “I—I hadn’t realized. Sorry. I—I guess I misunderstood. I thought she said that—”

“That she would stay for the weekend,” said Castiel, finishing his sentence for him. “I—you’re right. That was initially the plan, but she—something came up. And in any case, even if she had stayed, I had already agreed on our day together. I wouldn’t have cancelled on you.”

Dean nodded.

Since they were both up and about, they agreed that they should simply get ready and leave earlier than planned, instead of pointlessly waiting until noon to hit the road.

The food festival began in the morning, according to Dean. He judged that if they left within half an hour, the festival would be under way by the time they reached their destination.

So, Castiel returned home to get the necessary items for their mini-trip, such as snacks, beach chairs and towels, leaving time for Dean to get dressed.

And soon enough, they met at the car, where Dean added Castiel’s items in the trunk with the cooler he had brought.

Once seated comfortably in the car, Dean pointed to the giant thermos containing coffee, which Castiel eagerly served each of them a cup, knowing they could refill it at the festival if need be. And after running a quick checklist, they were ready to begin their journey.

The trip, though short, was a bit awkward. They listened to the radio. Exchanged a few looks.

And Castiel mulled over the Richie-Dean situation all the way to the food festival.

He had questions, of course.

But he also didn’t want to pry. Dean was entitled to his privacy—something he had not often been granted from the rest of the town.

Castiel also feared that it was now impossible for him to question Dean without being biased. As happy as he was to know that Dean was allowing himself a good time, it was obvious that the scene—the kiss— he had witnessed between Dean and Richie was highly problematic for him, given the massive pit in his stomach he had been feeling ever since.

That being said, Castiel was in no position to make any demands. Not only did Dean owe him nothing on principle, but Castiel also had been the one to encourage him to go out with Richie in the first place.

And with this in mind, Castiel was now severely rethinking his confession. While he still didn’t know all the particulars, one thing was sure: from his point of view, Richie definitely possessed advantages over him. For one, he actually lived in town.

And unlike Castiel, he hadn’t just ended a long-term relationship not even two nights ago. Not to mention the little morning kiss episode Castiel had sadly witnessed.

Uncertainty filled his mind and prolonged his silence, which only made the heavy awkwardness in the car even more painful.

Thankfully, the food festival helped this weird tension dissipate from between the two. The place wasn’t too crowded yet, but given the delectable aroma floating in the air, Castiel had no problem believing that it would soon be a very busy place.

Dean and Castiel slowly took the time to browse every kiosk, eager to discover the tasty treasure each of them held for them. Castiel even recognized a few people, including Mick Davies, the kind coffee shop owner, who made sure to wink at him after offering them both warm croissants, free of charge.

Dean even introduced Castiel to the twins, Alicia and Max Banes, the orchestrators of the event, as well as their mother, Tasha. He enjoyed their company immensely and praised them on the most delicious and refreshing cup of lemonade he ever had the pleasure to taste.

They tasted vegan burritos (which happened to be very flavorful) and a tiny cup of spicy chili. Watching Dean’s eyes nearly watering after gulping it down in one go had been hilarious for Castiel.

But not as much as seeing Dean looking at his burrito with great suspicion.

After a couple of hours of circling around and stuffing their faces with succulent food, the crowd had now tripled in size and the sun was soon shining high above their heads. A faint uneasiness was still detectable, but it had considerably diminished since their car ride.

When Castiel realized that they had managed to visit most of the kiosks already, Dean said, as though he had read his mind, “Do you want to head back?”

Castiel pursed his lips.

“We can stay if you want.”

“I’m okay either way,” answered Dean.

“I—I think we’ve properly experienced the festival,” he said, tapping on his stomach, which made Dean laugh. “How far is that lake you talked about?”

“Just over half an hour. It will be a detour back home, though.”

“I guess we’ll take the scenic route then.”

Dean smirked. “Guess so. What do you say we grab a few things for later? I packed a cooler if we need it. I think those lemonades and a few other items would be perfect to consume on the beach.”

“Perfect.”

And with far more food than they needed for the both of them, they left the festival behind and drove off towards the lake. While the ride was still silent, with full bellies and a nice breeze keeping them cool, the level of awkwardness was less overwhelming this time around. Not by much, but there was improvement, at the very least.

When they arrived at their destination, Castiel was rendered speechless by the scenery.

It was exactly as Dean had said.

Like at the lake-house, the spot was secluded, and while the forest surrounding it seemed similar enough in density and type, thus giving the place a private vibe, it felt somehow more open than the one at home.

The water was so clear, it was possible to see the bottom of it. And the beach was gorgeous.

And empty.

Not a single person was present in this beautiful place.

Which was incomprehensible, thought Castiel. Almost suspicious.

“Is this—can we be here?”

“Of course,” said Dean, laughing.

“I know you said people rarely come here, but…is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” he said, beginning emptying the car.

“How so?”

“No clue. There are many lakes around, so people have a lot of options. I suppose this one is very far off from everything, which can bring certain issues like the need for food or, um, bathroom breaks…and maybe safety issues for families with young kids, you know? But I always liked this spot.”

“I can see why.”

They shortly decided to side with caution and concluded that it was probably a wise idea to not immediately go in for a dive, considering the amount of food they had ingested the whole morning. Instead, they began to set up a comfy spot for them to enjoy the afternoon.

Dean laid down beach towels so they wouldn’t sit directly on the burning sand, while Castiel arranged the two large parasols Dean had brought to give them a proper amount of shade.

Once the cooler and the chairs were also in place, Dean and Castiel made themselves more comfortable by taking off layers.

Both wearing swimming trunks, they decided to keep their shirts on for additional protection against the sun, despite having applied a generous amount of sunscreen.

Dean gestured Castiel to turn his chair so they could face each other, after handing him a bottle of water from the cooler. Slightly confused at Dean’s directive, he nonetheless did as he was told, only to see Dean sliding the cooler between them and putting down a small case over it.

Castiel lifted an eyebrow as he noticed Dean’s grin widening.

“What’s that?”

“I thought it was time for a rematch.”

He opened the case and revealed a set of backgammon.

Castiel, laughing wholeheartedly, tapped on his knees with glee.

“Let’s see what you got then.”

During their first game, it was as it had been on their first evening. They were relaxed, chitchatting, and sharing laughter. They were having a good time.

But as they continued with their second, and third, and fourth game…the unnamed tension was still present despite it all.

Dean was particularly quiet—even by his standards—while Castiel repositioned himself on his seat every three seconds.They kept looking the other way the moment they noticed the other staring at them. 

But neither of them worded it.

Not yet, anyway.

They carried on with their games, fetched more refreshment from the cooler and eventually pushed the game aside to let themselves sink into their chairs, enjoying the warm weather, which was increasing with every moment.

Sunglasses on, Castiel felt sleepiness slowly creep on him. And although it was a very tempting idea, falling asleep in the sun (even if he was supposedly protected) was never a good idea.

He then heard a commotion next to him. Dean seemed to be searching for something in the cooler with great difficulty.

“What are you looking for?” asked Castiel.

“It’s too hot,” said Dean. “I bought a few—I thought they’d be fine in the cooler, but I feel like—we should eat those before they melt.”

He then retrieved two wrapped popsicles.

Castiel chuckled.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “I thought I still had ice cream sandwiches left in the freezer, but I was wrong apparently. I was hoping I could maybe find some at the festival, but didn’t have much luck there, either. That’s the only thing I had in the freezer.”

He offered one to Castiel.

“That’s quite all right. In fact, that’s kind of perfect.”

“A couple of hours ago, maybe. I totally forgot about them.”

While they hadn’t been in perfect condition, they hadn’t been a complete loss, either.

But they were melting.

Fast.

And if sucking on popsicles was already an awkward task to tackle, trying to consume one that had already begun melting was practically asking for embarrassment.

And as they both slurped—loudly—they quickly became extremely self-conscious about the whole ordeal.

Which neither of them was addressing and both kept their eyes purposely on the lake.

A little too forcibly.

So much so, that soon enough, Castiel was more focused on the water than on what he was actually doing, and with one mess up, his popsicle broke in half, and he somehow ended up soiling his chin, neck and his white shirt.

Dean, who had not missed his incident, began howling with laughter, and Castiel had no choice but laugh at his own ridiculous state as well.

As Dean fetched a cloth from his duffle bag, he then helped Castiel as best he could by offering pointers of where Castiel needed to clean his face. He retrieved a small cloth and generously poured water from his bottle over it. Seeing that Castiel was having no luck to clean himself, instead of handing him the cloth, Dean dragged his chair closer to him and then delicately pressed the wet cloth over his chin.

His mouth.

Down his neck.

Until they both remained still. Staring at each other. Practically breathing each other’s air.

And Castiel, deeply fighting the urge to reach out for him, simply waited for Dean to do something.

To see _if_ he would do something.

Feeling his heartbeat grow stronger and his knees nearly shaking.

But Dean, just like him, did not move a muscle.

So, Castiel said softly, “Thank you.” He then gently took hold of the cloth to wash his hands.

Still feeling sticky, however, he put the cloth away, took off his sunglasses and his soiled shirt, and said, “I think I’ll go for a quick swim. It will probably take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” said Dean, nodding at him.

Trying to steady himself on his feet, Castiel hadn’t taken but a few steps when he heard, “Cas, wait up!” and found Dean trotting to his side with his shirt off as well. “I’ll go, too.”

They reached the shore calmly and advanced into the water without much protestation.

The water was much cooler than Castiel had anticipated. It felt like a bliss against the heavy heat the day had brought. Once the water level had reached his hips, to have a proper wash—and to cool off in every sense of the term—Castiel let himself sink under water.

It was effective to say the least.

Back at the surface, he noticed Dean a few feet from him and assessed that he had done the same.

His hair was a little darker than usual.

His shoulders. Arms. Chest.

All glistening.

Stomach.

And Castiel tried his best so his gaze wouldn’t venture any lower than that.

Judging that he had needed to get a grip, he slowly made his way to the shore and sat there a moment.

With Dean joining his side, as they both admired the view.

Of the lake.

Of course.

“Thank you for today,” said Castiel. “I’m glad you suggested this.”

“No problem. I’m happy the weather was on our side this time.”

Castiel nodded.

Yes, _this time_ , he thought.

He wondered what would have occurred, had the weather been different.

Or before certain complications.

Before the engagement party.

Before Richie.

And momentarily losing his self-control, Castiel said, “So, you haven’t said anything about Richie, yet.”

“Oh, um. We—we went on a date yesterday.”

Silence.

“And? I’m assuming it must have gone well?”

Silence.

Until Dean finally said, “It was nice, yes.”

“That’s great.” Castiel waited a moment and then added, “He seems kind. What do you like the most about him?”

Dean stirred a little and after a short pause, keeping his eyes on the water, he said, “It’s difficult to say. His compassion. And how—how I don’t feel judged when I’m with him. Like—like the situation always somehow improves when he’s there. And—anyway. Yeah.”

Feeling his throat tighten, Castiel nodded silently.

Given that his entire life was filled with uncertainties right now, he knew it was probably for the best.

But hearing Dean speak of Richie with such warmth and ardor still felt absolutely gut-wrenching.

More deeply than he thought it would have ever been.

He had blown it.

Assuming he ever had a chance.

“And what about you?” asked Dean. “I’m surprised Daphne already left. She seemed so happy to see you.”

And with that, if it was possible, Castiel felt even worse than he had seconds ago.

He kept his mouth shut for an instant, because this was it.

This was the opportunity he had hoped for.

A clear moment to be honest and confess everything to Dean.

Explain the situation with Daphne. That there _wasn’t_ any situation with her.

That he was a free man.

Single.

And that he cared for him very much.

That he had feelings for him.

Thought of him constantly.

And couldn’t phantom the idea that soon, he would have to leave.

And while Castiel knew that he had the right to express his sentiments to Dean, and that he probably should if he didn’t want to kick himself until the end of time, he also understood that after everything Dean had gone through, it would almost be selfish of him to do so.

So, Castiel resigned himself on the matter and said, “She was. She was so glad to meet you too, and very disappointed that she had to leave so soon. We, um, we knew it was a possibility with her work. But I guess, at least, we tried.”

Dean nodded. “That’s true. That’s…at least you tried.”

Sick of the sun, they eventually returned to their spot to hide themselves in the shade. Dean lent Castiel a spare shirt from his duffle bag, since his was now dirty.

They paired up some of the snacks they had brought with the ones from the festival, and decided to return to their game.

And no additional mention of Daphne or Richie was made.

Around late afternoon, exhausted, they both agreed that it was time to head back home.

Castiel was filled with an odd mixture of emotions. He was grateful for his serene day with Dean. Content that Dean had given someone a chance.

And absolutely crushed by the outcome.

Although Dean had stated that the trip on the way back would be longer, it hadn’t felt so to Castiel. Too soon for his taste were they already turning onto the familiar dirt road leading to the houses.

And with shy and tired goodbyes, they returned to their respective residences.

For the first time since he had set foot into Donna’s house, Castiel felt exposed. And lonely.

And worried.

The spectacle of the lake and Dean’s house—his car, him or his visitors—constantly in his face was deeply unpleasant.

Resolute to avoid it for the rest of the evening, he shut off everything in the house, took a quick shower in the hope that it would make him feel better, and wearing only thin underwear, he dragged himself to his bed with the firm intention to not leave unless for an emergency.

The next day was uneventful for Castiel.

He remained home. He rested into his hammock and he did not even look at his laptop.

He had a lazy day, wallowing and reviewing his options, which, less than forty-eight hours ago, hadn’t sounded as grim.

Finally, on Wednesday, Castiel told himself that enough was enough, and getting a change of scenery would help his morale.

He cycled to town in order to make a quick stop at _Redfield’s Food Market_ to procure himself some items of sustenance. As he was studying the options at the meat counter, deciding what would work best with the vegetables he had chosen for his supper, someone gently tapped him on his shoulder.

It was Richie.

“Hey, I thought it was you. Sorry,” he said, laughing at Castiel’s slight startle. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ve been out of it for the last few days. Um, how are you?”

“I’m okay. I—” he began to say, but stopped himself, shaking his head.

“What?”

Richie hesitated a moment and then said, “I know it’s bad of me to ask, but I—I just wanted to know how Dean was doing.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if this was Richie’s idea of a joke.

“I’m only asking,” he continued, “because you live next door. I feel like I—anyway—if you see him, just—I genuinely want to know how he’s doing, but it’s kinda weird if I ask now.”

Castiel was confused.

“What—why is that? I thought—aren’t you together?”

Richie blinked. “No.”

“Not anymore?” asked Castiel, now concerned. “What happened?”

“Anymore? We never—we went out once last Saturday. That was it.”

Castiel stared at him blankly.

“You—you and Dean aren’t together?”

“No. We never were.”

“Okay, but he—I mean, you still—that morning, I saw you. At his house.”

Richie leaned his head backwards, finally understanding Castiel’s puzzlement. “I just stopped by that morning hoping it would grant me a second date. See, I had to leave for an emergency during our date. I knew I had a short chance after that, but I had to try.”

Castiel held his breath for a minute, processing everything, until he said very slowly, “And he didn’t accept? Like he—you’re—you’re not dating?”

Richie shook his head. “No. We’re not.”

Castiel nearly dropped his small shopping basket on the ground.

And as the exhilaration set in at the thought, it quickly vanished as worry spread his mind once he realized what it also meant.

Dean had lied to him.

And Castiel couldn’t understand why.


	8. Chapter Eight: A Simple Request

For the rest of the day, Castiel tormented himself with overanalyzing why Dean had wanted to maintain the illusion that he was dating Richie.

One possibility was that, since his date with Richie had been a bust, Dean had wanted to avoid the usual criticism and harsh comments people often gave him about his love life.

But the idea that Dean had expected that behaviour from him was borderline sickening to Castiel.

No, there had to be something else.

Perhaps Dean had sensed Castiel’s feelings for him.

And if Dean didn’t feel the same, pretending to be unavailable might have been his solution to turn him down the easy way.

Which was as painful as believing Dean would think him distrustful.

And yet, even if that was a strong possibility—however harsh it may be—Castiel still felt like this scenario didn’t add up.

Remembering their starry night.

Their day at the lake.

Even their first evening over pie…every moment they had shared had had something special to it.

Enough to give him hope that Dean shared his feelings.

And what if he did?

What if he _did_ feel the same and still lied about Richie?

After all, as far as Dean knew, Castiel was still engaged to Daphne. So, maybe he had lied about Richie only to keep himself in check and not cross a line.

Wasn’t it more or less what Castiel had done himself about his situation with Daphne—both pre and post break-up?

All this being said though, whatever the right answer was, one thing was for certain: Castiel had to know.

The only problem was _how_ to ask such a delicate question.

Castiel wanted an explanation to his lie. Not shame him about his deception.

And even if Dean was interested, Castiel coming clean about his own omission had its issues as well.

The last thing he wanted was to casually mention that he was no longer engaged and then immediately drop the bomb about his feelings for him.

Doing so may potentially give Dean the impression that Castiel was purely interested in a physical and non-consequential manner.

And that was about as far away from the truth as anything.

Thus, growing anxious and frustrated, he put his computer away, knowing there was no point in attempting to work until he managed a heart-to-heart with Dean, and grabbed a piece of paper.

Dear temporary neighbour,

I found your shirt from the other day in my laundry. As a thank you for saving me from my own mess, I made an apple pie and your name is written on it. So, if you don’t have any plans tonight, please, stop by my place, I’ll properly return your shirt to you and we could perhaps have dessert as well.

And don’t worry if it is very late. I’ll still be awake.

Castiel

As far as invitations went, Castiel knew he could have done better. But he was so exhausted from overthinking every little detail that he concluded it was best to leave it at that and focus on what he should do once Dean showed up instead of agonizing over the note.

His message was clear and friendly. And hopefully, the pie alone would be enough of an incentive for Dean to stop by.

After Castiel had left the note for Dean on his doormat, he tried to be productive. He gathered all the ingredients and tools he needed to bake the pie. Once it was cooking in the oven, knowing it was probably useless given his state of mind, he nonetheless attempted to get some work done, meaning to distract himself.

But the Wi-Fi was constantly dying on him, which only increased his frenzy, so he soon gave up working on his letters.

And sitting there, while Dean’s house stared at him, he decided that he shouldn’t simply bake a pie.

He should prepare an entire meal for Dean.

By the time Dean finally returned home on Wednesday night, the summer sun had already set, and the pink and purple colors that the sky had harbored less than an hour ago were now long gone.

Just like the few days before, he conditioned himself to not glance at Donna’s house. He simply parked the car, stepped out of his vehicle and rushed to his front door as quickly and quietly as possible.

He was aware that it was a rather ridiculous approach and that, sooner or later, Castiel would figure out that he was trying to avoid him and probably demand to know why that was.

And Dean couldn’t blame him.

But until then, it would have to do.

After his day at the lake, Dean felt that this was the only way to lessen his chances of compromising himself.

Sunday had been the perfect combination of torture and bliss for him. Glad that it had happened, but absolutely mortified of what _could_ have happened had he not fought down every urge to reach out for him.

Confess everything to him.

Kiss him.

Give in.

That and the fact that he had lied to Castiel the whole damn day.

It was one thing to keep quiet about his infatuation with the guy, but to pretend that he was dating Richie to avoid suspicion—without Richie’s knowledge, no less—Dean wasn’t proud of that one.

It had been nothing short of a torment and he wasn’t in a hurry to repeat the experience.

Which was why, when he found Castiel’s note on Wednesday night, he was plagued with a moment of panic.

Obviously, this was an invitation, not an order. So, he was not under any obligation to accept.

But considering the effort that Castiel had put in to reach out to him and that he had made it clear that he was expecting him, Dean reckoned that saying a quick hello over pie, at the very least, seemed acceptable.

And truth be told, as worried as he was about that prospect, he was also eager to see Castiel again.

He missed him immensely.

So, even if it would be awkward for him, he made his way directly to Castiel’s porch, swallowed hard and knocked on the door.

Castiel was nowhere in sight, but Dean heard him yell, “Just a second!”

Patiently waiting by the door, he then noticed that the table was nicely set.

With chic tablecloth.

Two plates.

Wine cups.

Unlit candles.

The whole thing.

And just as he was about to make a run for it, Castiel said, “Dean, you’re here.”

Startled at the mention of his name, Dean snapped out of it and found Castiel rushing to him.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in cautiously after Castiel had opened the door for him. His eyes falling on the table again, he added, “Is this still a good time?”

“Of course. Hold on, um, I forgot to set your shirt aside. I’ll go get it.”

Castiel disappeared into the other room and Dean was left to wait awkwardly next to the table. Overwhelmed by the aroma, he turned his attention to the counter, where he soon spotted the freshly baked pie, as well as an entire meal, which consisted of colorful vegetables and a juicy-looking roast.

“Here you go,” Castiel said, once he had returned. “Thank you, again.”

“No problem. I—I didn’t need it immediately,” he added quickly, diverting his gaze. He shifted on his feet and felt his shoulders tense up.

Dean was panicking.

It was either that Castiel was waiting to entertain or he had purposely lured him there, and either way, Dean had a strong desire to flee the place.

He waited as long as he could, and when he felt he could not spend one more moment in that room without looking at him, he said, “Well, um, I should probably go now.”

“Dean, wait. What—what about the pie?”

Dean froze as he was about to reach for the door handle.

_The pie._

Not the romantic dinner for two.

Only the pie.

As it was mentioned on the note.

Dean swallowed hard and turned himself to face Castiel.

“Um, I—maybe tomorrow? I’m pretty beat.”

“For pie?” said Castiel, letting out a short nervous laugh.

“I know, I—I’m sorry. You went through all the trouble of—I just think I’d enjoy it more tomorrow if that’s okay. Thanks again for the shirt,” he said softly, as he gave him a shy smile, and reached for the door handle once more.

“Dean, I—hold on a second. I—I meant to ask you something.”

“What—what is it?”

There was a long, dramatic pause when Castiel carefully weighed on his words, until he finally said, “How are things with Richie?”

Dean felt a pang in his chest. “S’fine. Awesome. Like I said.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.” Even though Castiel’s tone had sounded sincere, Dean couldn’t help but detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“So, have you two made any more plans?” asked Castiel.

“We’re going out tomorrow,” Dean heard himself say when he noticed Castiel had begun walking towards him.

“Are you?”

Dean nodded.

Castiel looked him straight in the eyes.

“Are you _sure_ about that?”

“Yes.”

Castiel came to halt and stood right in front of him.

“That’s curious. I heard differently.”

“What do you mean? Like what?” said Dean, frowning.

Castiel took another step.

He had now definitely invaded Dean’s personal space.

“Exactly what I said: that I heard differently.”

Dean kept his mouth shut. Castiel was too close. He could smell the sweet hint of his body wash, as well as the soothing scent of freshly cleaned laundry.

“I ran into Richie,” said Castiel in a very calming tone. “You can imagine my confusion when he asked about your well-being and mentioned that you two were not, in fact, dating.”

Dean’s whole body’s stiffened.

“Wh—what? No.”

“No?”

“No, I—shit, Cas. I—” And his sentence died in his throat.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m not mad,” he whispered. “I—I just want to know why you said otherwise.”

Dean’s heart was beating out of his chest.

“Because I have a theory,” Castiel said, eyeing his lips.

“What is it?” breathed Dean.

Castiel gave him a warm look and said, “I think you like me.”

Silence.

“I hope you do.”

He reached for his hand and Dean felt jitters in his chest.

And _lower_ than in his chest, too.

“Because I like you, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I—I don’t—it’s not like to—that—” Dean began saying, before tripping on his words.

“You don’t like me?”

Feeling his bottom lip tremble, Dean shook his head desperately, as it was the only thing he could master to do.

Castiel leaned back his head, scanned Dean’s face for a second, and until he said, “Then prove it. Kiss me.”

Dean’s left knee momentarily gave out.

“What?”

“Kiss me,” Castiel repeated. He didn’t move. Didn’t even lean in or do anything alluring. He simply stared at Dean. “You say you don’t like me. But I’m not so sure that’s true. I think a kiss should make that clear for the both of us.”

Fuck, thought Dean.

He was pretty much screwed from that point on.

Uttering the lie was already a struggle as it was.

But _kissing_ him to prove it?

That was a dead giveaway.

That was something he couldn’t fake. There was no way Dean could kiss him and make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like it meant nothing.

Or that it wasn’t something he was deeply craving.

Because it was all those things and more.

And worse, while it was obviously within his rights, if he simply refused to give a small, innocent kiss to Castiel, which would indeed be trivial if he truly didn’t have feelings for him, they both knew it would equally prove Castiel’s point.

So, there. Castiel had him.

He had called his bluff.

And Dean’s sole defense left to him was to remain very still and look at Castiel with pleading eyes.

Ready to jump out of his skin as he fought down the urge to give in.

And when Castiel assessed that Dean wouldn’t act on it, he said in a defeated tone, “Okay, then. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” He let go of Dean’s hand, gave him a sad look and backed away from him.

Dean’s heart stopped. He felt a lump in his throat at the sight of Castiel moving away.

And the next thing he knew, he grabbed Castiel’s arm, pulled him towards him, and after quickly bringing his hands on each side of Castiel’s face, he kissed him hard on the mouth.

It took Castiel a few seconds to react, but shortly after, Dean felt his strong arms wrap around him tightly. Castiel deepened the kiss with ardor, opening his mouth, and welcoming anything that Dean was offering.

Moaning at the back of his throat, Dean pressed himself against Castiel’s warm body, nudging them away from the door as he was completely giving in to the kiss.

Castiel moved his mouth to Dean’s throat, gently nibbling at it, while Dean was desperately trying to keep his breathing under control. His pulse was increasing, and all Dean’s brain could process was wanting more.

More of Castiel’s burning flesh.

Of his swollen lips.

Of his soft touch.

More.

They momentarily came to a halt when they ran into the table. Catching his breath, Dean took advantage of their pause and tugged on Castiel’s shirt, urgently helping him out of it. Once it went flying across the room, he tried to do the same with his own clothes.

As he struggled to shed his flannel, Dean wondered why he had been wearing so many layers in summer weather.

It was so heavy. Thick. And way too damn hot.

He needed to free himself of it all so could finally breathe again.

As though Castiel had read his mind, he seized the edge of his pants and helped him unbuckle his belt.

The moment Dean’s pants dropped to his ankles, Castiel nudged him against the table, and smoothly lifted him up on it.

Dean pushed some of the dishes away to give himself some room as swiftly as he could. His heart was beating fast and he was trembling all over. Castiel, biting his lip, took a moment to observe him with fervor. He then slid his fingertips on Dean’s collarbone down to his chest. To his stomach. To his lower abdomen. Dean felt tingles in his lower back, his left leg jolted at the touch, and he let out a whine once Castiel palmed Dean’s crotch.

He then gripped Dean’s hips and brought him closer to him, which turned out to be a tad awkward to accomplish because Dean’s pants were still stuck at his ankles.

But that didn’t slow down Castiel. He leaned in, almost as though he was about to kiss him, but instead, he stopped and looked at Dean straight in the eyes.

He kept his face out of reach just enough so Dean couldn’t kiss him, but close enough so he could feel his hot breath on his lips.

To tease him.

And it worked.

Every time Dean slightly leaned towards him, Castiel simply leaned back a little more. Smiling at how Dean wanted it. Once he knew he had Dean’s attention, he lowered his eyes to Dean’s crotch, licked his lips and lifted his eyes again.

“Cas, please,” he said, staring at his lips.

He began pulling on Dean’s underwear, and awkwardly aided by Dean, who hoisted himself as best he could, Castiel succeeded taking them off sufficiently enough to reveal Dean’s pulsating cock.

He immediately wrapped his hand over his erection and began stroking it, making sure to spread the precum over his cock, making it slick.

A desperate moan came out of Dean’s mouth, and Castiel quickened his strokes, focusing his fist on the head of Dean’s cock.

Moaning loudly, Dean soon lost his balance and felt himself falling on the table. In a moment of passion, they quickly pushed out of the way whatever was left on the table, causing an impressive clatter, and Dean slid himself further down on the surface.

Which was again difficult because he hadn’t completely succeeded in getting rid of his pants and underwear. He briefly attempted to remedy that situation, but then Castiel hurriedly pushed his own shorts down and joined him by climbing on the table as well.

And with Castiel lying on top of him, gluing his warm naked body to him, suddenly his pants being stuck at his ankles became utterly unimportant to Dean.

After giving him a pressing kiss, exploring Dean’s mouth with his tongue, Castiel grabbed the edge of the table past Dean’s head and began grinding against him.

Moaning in his ear.

Licking his flesh.

Nibbling on his shoulders.

And feeling his hard, leaking cock twitching against his.

Burning up and pinned to the table, Dean was lost to it.

With Castiel breathing his name and moving his hips against him, as to spread Dean’s legs as much he could despite his weird clothing situation, Dean had never craved anything as much as he had in this moment.

His hands and knees were shaking.

His heart was beating way too fast.

His desire was physically hurting him down to his thighs.

Limited in his movements because of his position, he compensated by wrapping his arms around Castiel’s back, digging in his fingertips into his shoulders every time he felt blissful frictions.

As their panting increased, he brought both his hands to the sides of Castiel’s face, drawing him for a searing kiss. Sucking hard on his tongue, he then eased his hands down to Castiel’s ass and squeezed it.

Hard.

Enough leave a mark.

Castiel let out an excruciatingly loud moan in his mouth. He paused for a moment, hoisting himself a bit to get a proper look at Dean.

Both out of breath and gazing at each other, they remain still.

Under Castiel’s intense stare, Dean could tell that he was weighing his options: continue with the good thing they had going or go even further.

And Dean wanted to make it very clear what he wanted. So, he reached for Castiel’s hand and delicately brought it to his own lips. He kissed the tips of the fingers, and began sucking on them, not diverting his gaze, as he spread his legs even more.

Dean was extremely satisfied to hear Castiel letting out a moan.

“That’s what you want?” Castiel asked him.

Lost for words, Dean nodded, with his eyes fixed on Castiel’s swollen lips.

And after making sure that his fingers were sufficiently coated with saliva, Dean slowly began moving Castiel’s hand downwards.

“Do you want to stay here or head to the bedroom? Where we—”

They both froze as they heard a phone buzzing on the floor. Dean hesitated for a second, and then continued moving Castiel’s hand.

He stopped once more, however, when he perceived shadows moving on the ceiling.

Lights.

Car lights.

And then, car honking was heard.

It took them both a moment to understand that this was really happening, until they suddenly stopped as they held their breaths.

“Fuck.”

In the most disgraceful manner, they both climbed off the table. With trembling hands, Dean pulled up his pants and grabbed his shirt, eager to cover himself. While Castiel was dressing himself as well, Dean noticed that the car had stopped behind the Impala and the moment he realized who it was, he immediately squatted downwards to be out of sight.

Yes.

Because despite the darkness, with the lighting of the houses, Dean had seen none other than Daphne stepping out of the car.

And she had looked straight at the house.

The freaking _glass_ house.

Feeling sick with panic, he swore as he desperately tried to buckle his belt.

“Dean,” said Castiel gently, kneeling next to him and reaching for his hand.

“I need to go—I—shit—” blurted out Dean in a wavering voice when he noticed all the dishes and utensils on the floor.

“It’s okay. Don’t—don’t worry about that. We’ll fix it.”

“But she—Cas—I’m—I’m gonna—before she—” He turned towards the door.

“Dean, wait,” pleaded Castiel. He ran his hands in his hair and over his clothes, hoping it would fix his appearance.

Fat chance at that, thought Dean. His hair was in a disarray, his shirt was put on backwards, and even if that wouldn’t be a major indicator, one look at his face and it was very clear what Castiel had been doing five seconds ago.

“Please, don’t leave. I swear it’s—”

“I can’t, sorry,” was Dean’s only answer, and before Castiel could plead with him once more, he jumped on his feet and bolted out of the door.

He didn’t let Castiel calling his name stop him.

Once outside, the humidity hit him hard.

He was sweaty and hot.

Flustered and sticky.

Ashamed and anxious.

On the off chance that Daphne had somehow missed the entire spectacle—or hadn’t spotted him before he had cowardly hidden himself—the last thing he wanted was to get caught fleeing the house her fiancé was renting. So, feeling his heart grow heavier, he hurried to his right, cautiously circled the house in the opposite direction of his own house, as to avoid running into her, and once he was sure that Daphne was no longer outside, he quickly made his way home as stealthily as possible.

By some miracle, he reached his porch without any detection and burst into his home.

He slammed the door quickly.

Locked it behind him.

Shut off all the lights, windows and curtains, as if this would help him disappear from existence.

And then, feeling like he was someone’s dirty secret, he let himself drop to the nearest chair with his hands in his face.

_“What the fuck did I just do?”_


	9. Chapter Nine: Miscommunications

The first thought that went through Dean’s mind was that he owed Donna a new kitchen table after what he had done.

The second thought was that he would never be able to look her in the eyes, nor would he ever be able to look into a mirror, either.

He had done it.

After resisting for so long, he had thrown his moral compass out of the window, acted like a selfish prick and crossed the line of adultery.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the one who was engaged, he was equally guilty. He still knew Castiel was spoken for and he gave in anyway.

And it had been in the most urgent and passionate way. From the moment he had pulled Castiel towards him and had finally kissed him as he had deeply yearned to do so for the past weeks, Dean hadn’t slowed down one second after that. No hesitation. Simply governed by the need to feed his hunger.

And if it hadn’t been for the car lights…

The goddamn car lights.

How much had Daphne seen? She must have caught him standing without his shirt at the very least, he deduced. Could she tell it was him? In any case, she walked-in on Castiel looking flustered and the entire table he had prepared for her on the floor.

Sitting in the dark and feeling utterly lost, Dean was now convinced that he had officially lost his mind to have done that. He was shaking all over and his chest was becoming heavier.

He didn’t know what was happening next door, but he could hear Castiel and Daphne’s voices.

Feeling ill, he wrapped his arms around his chest and began taking in deep breaths in the hope it would suppress the sobs he could feel building up within him.

And he kept doing so for a long time, rocking himself and desperate to calm himself.

Until he heard knocking on his door.

His heart practically jumped out of his chest. He stared at his door, holding his breath.

More knocks.

He stayed still as a statue.

“Dean? It’s Cas. I—I need to talk to you,” he said in a pleading voice. “I know you’re in there and I need to exp—you—I know how this looks, but—please, open the door.”

Dean shook his head, determined to not answer.

“Please, Dean.”

The door handle wiggled and once it was clear that the door was locked, Dean then heard footsteps on his porch, rushing around his house, as if Castiel was trying to find another way in, but Dean had been thorough. He had pulled every curtain properly and not a single window had remained opened.

Castiel tapped on a few windows, hoping to get his attention, and when nothing happened, he then returned to the front door and knocked again.

“Dean, I need to know you’re okay,” he said softly. “And I’m sure you’re not. I’m not okay. I’m not okay when I think that you—how I—Dean, please!” The door handle wiggled again. “There’s something you need to know and I don’t want to say this through a door. And I—I promise it’s not bad. _Please._ ”

Dean shut his eyes tightly, feeling tears rolling down his face.

“I’m not leaving until you open the door.”

He continued knocking and calling out Dean’s name in a pleading tone for what felt like an eternity to Dean.

Then, everything suddenly became silent.

There was a short pause and then Dean heard a commotion. A few steps on the porch, followed by a faint thump on the door, and then nothing.

Thinking Castiel had finally left, Dean exhaled slowly.

And then he heard, “Dean, you have no idea what this meant to me. What you mean to me.”

Dean gasped. He stared at the door. Castiel’s shadow was gone from the door’s window. But his voice was clear. He was right behind that door.

“I fucked up. I’m so sorry that I fucked up so badly. This was not how—I mean, I—I did want everything that—but not like—fuck!”

Dean, holding his breath, listened, not knowing what else to do.

“All I wanted to do,” he continued with a waver in his voice, “was to tell you how I felt about you over a nice dinner.”

Dean blinked, feeling a pang in his chest.

“I wanted to know if you felt the same and if that was why you had told me you were going out with Richie when you weren’t.” There was a pause and he then added, “Because that’s what I did. In a way. I—I’m not—Daphne and I, we are not together anymore. We haven’t been since—it’s complicated. But we’re not together. That’s what I wanted to tell you. But I didn’t want to make it sound like—like I was just telling you this because I wanted to—and then I saw that you were panicking and—and—I just—I can’t believe how badly I handled the situation. I really didn’t mean to corner you like this, especially when I hadn’t explained what—”

With his back leaning against the door, Castiel had nearly fell in, thus pausing his speech, when Dean had opened the door swiftly.

It was dark, so Dean couldn’t see his face properly, but he was sure that, like him, Castiel’s eyes were red.

“Dean, I—”

But Dean stopped him immediately by lifting his hand. Not trusting himself, he took a step back, and understanding Dean’s warning, Castiel remained in the doorway.

“Tell me something though,” said Dean. “Even if what you say is true, and I’m not saying I believe you, because why would I—but even if it’s true, what happens now?”

“What—what do—”

“You say you’re not engaged,” he added urgently. “Assuming that’s true, doesn’t change the fact that you don’t actually live here.”

Silence.

“So, you were gonna…what? Confess your love or whatever, and after you’d had your fun with me, you’d throw me away like a pair of dirty old socks?”

“ _Dean_ , no! I—”

“Are you staying? Has your job office relocated to the area? Do you intend to live indefinitely on Donna’s property?”

Castiel’s sole answer was to look at him with sad eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” said Dean in a broken voice. Discouraged, he let go of the handle. “God. So, that’s how it feels like.” He let out a small laugh. “When you realize how much of a fucking idiot you’ve been—to realize you’ll _never_ stop being a fucking idiot,” he said to himself.

“No, Dean—you’re not—”

“I feel so stupid,” Dean continued, cutting him off. “It’s like…no matter how I look at it…For weeks, I felt guilty for having feelings for you and lying about it. For being attracted to someone who, yet again, was taken and would soon leave. But I kept telling myself that at least— _at the very least_ —if I did the right thing, kept my hands to myself and sucked it up, I would spare myself some embarrassment and pain. And fucking look at me now!” he said, running his hands on his face, laughing in the most disconcerting way. “Isn’t that fucking ridiculous? Can you believe this shit? I still ended up feeling exactly how I was trying to avoid: like a damn fool. And I get the added bonus of having reached a new low in just how embarrassed a person can be when I think about when I just—I—what she must have seen—I just flew out of there like a coward and—” Dean’s sentence died in his throat.

He shut his mouth tight. He felt sick and exhausted.

Warm fingers reached for his hands as Castiel had finally entered the house.

And Dean immediately pushed his hand away.

“Dean, you can’t begin to imagine how awful I feel about how—about everything. I’ll do anything I can to—but—but I want to make one thing clear: you did nothing wrong, okay? I’m not with Daphne. We broke up.”

“When? Since five seconds ago when she walked in on us?”

“No,” said Castiel calmly. “Before that. Officially since—since she visited. But even before…it’s the reason why—anyway. I’ll tell you everything later, but what’s important now is that I’m single. And that I—I like you and—”

“I don’t care.”

“I—what?”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it,” blurted out Dean.

“But—Dean, I—I told you. I—you did nothing—”

“ _Wrong?_ ” said Dean, finishing his sentence for him. “Then why do I still feel like crap? I’m just—just leave me alone.”

“Wait! Dean, please! Hold on—”

But Dean had pushed him out of his house and had shut the door in his face.

Dean had slept horribly. After ending his argument with Castiel, he had rushed immediately to the bathroom and had locked himself in there with the shower tap running to drown the sound of Castiel knocking on his front door. He took a cold shower as long as he deemed necessary. He had then turned off the water tap, and satisfied by the silence, he had then crawled to his bed and covered himself by only a thin bedsheet.

He had spent the better part of his night tossing and turning. Fighting back his tears. His frustrations. And a general sense of hopelessness.

Every moment since they had met replayed in his mind like a never-ending nightmare.

And it always circled back to that one second of truth from the night before: when Dean had finally stopped resisting his heart’s desire and kissed Castiel with everything he had.

What had followed—that moment of pure folly and passion—seemed surreal. It had been perfect, raw and liberating.

Despite the consequences of his impulses, Dean could not deny how alive and amazing it had made him feel.

And he knew that it wasn’t due to the insufferable heat, his horniness, or so-called loneliness.

The defining factor was, of course, Castiel.

He was why it had been so memorable and real.

Which made the night’s ending doubly heart-breaking for Dean.

With great misery, Dean hurriedly went to work in the morning, without so much as a glance at the house next door. Nevertheless, he still managed to spot at the corner of his eye Castiel patiently waiting on the stairs of Donna’s porch. He jumped to his feet the moment Dean reached the Impala, but Dean didn’t give him the time to do anything, and simply got into his car and left.

He did the same once he returned home that night, even when he noticed that Daphne’s car was gone and Castiel was quietly standing still on the porch.

And the same on the following day. And the day after that.

Ignoring Castiel had been easy considering that he was still boiling inside with fury and shame. Except for the occasional, angry look he shot him, Dean kept his interactions with Castiel as brief as possible. He left his house, ran to his car and drove off. Vice versa on his return and repeat. Simple and efficient.

For the time being, it seemed that Castiel was granting him some needed space. Pleading eyes had been his only retaliation. No more ambush. No more knocking on his door. Or even notes left on his doormat.

A fact that had been as slightly demoralizing as it had been worrisome.

That being said, Dean also knew that, sooner or later, he ought to have another conversation with Castiel.

His anger, while not being completely dissipated, had nonetheless somewhat subdued by the third day. And even though he persisted in repeating to himself that it was hopeless, he also admitted to himself that he had a few things he deeply wished to share with Castiel before his departure.

None of those things were to be said with rancor. Quite the opposite, actually.

The taste of Castiel’s lips. The sound of his graveled voice breathing his name. His soft skin pressed against his.

Details that gave him tingles along his back with the mere thought of them.

And that was something that Dean couldn’t leave unsaid.

But he wasn’t ready to speak yet, so he stubbornly carried on in this fashion.

On the fourth day, however, he dragged his feet to the car and glanced at the house in a moment of weakness.

No Castiel on the porch.

Nor was he seated at the table.

The house seemed dormant.

Dean then noticed the yellow bike was missing, too.

Deducing that Castiel had simply left to town really early, the tension in his shoulders lessened.

His heart stopped, however, once he realized that the hammock, as well as the rest of the patio furniture, were also gone. Panicking, he took another look at the house and nearly let out a gasp when it appeared like the place was inhabited.

No computer bag by the table. No fruits and coffee mugs on the counter. No books left on the side table next to the couch.

Not a pillow out of place or a light left on.

Dean took a deep breath and slowly made his way to the porch, as his knees were shaking.

He paused at the sight of the lounge chairs carefully tucked away by the door. Without further ado, he knocked on the door, trying to remain calm.

Nothing.

He called out his name and knocked on the door once more. He held his breath, watching through the floor-to-ceiling window, hoping to see a figure appear. Hear a small commotion inside.

Anything.

“Cas?”

He felt his stomach drop.

“Castiel!” he yelled, twisting the door handle, but no luck.

Upset, he took a step back and felt something under his feet.

An envelope partially tucked underneath the doormat.

Dear Miss Hanscum,

I left everything according to your instructions, including the keys within this envelope.

Thank you again for letting me rent your charming house. You were right on every account. It was the place where I needed to be and I will always be grateful for it.

Sincerely,

Castiel

Dean slowly put the letter back where he had found it and stared blankly in front of him. His chest was heavy and breathing was difficult. Panic overwhelming his entire soul, he made his way back to his car, not knowing what else to do, until something occurred to him. Remembering that they had exchanged phone numbers at the end of their first evening together, he reached out for his phone with shaking hands.

“The number you have reached is unavailable.”

He swore. He dialed again, convinced it was a mistake, but only to listen to the same recorded message.

“What the fuck. No. No—it can’t.”

Grounded on his spot, he then sent him a text message. He paused for an instant, trying to send a sensible message despite his frantic state.

And he started typing.

Dean: Cas, did you go to town this morning? I stopped by and no answer. And I can’t see your bike anywhere.

He waited, holding his breath, and received a reply indicating that his message had not been delivered.

Frustrated, he then attempted to access Castiel’s blog on his phone, but the service was slow. He rushed back home and tried to access the page, ready to write him a message.

But the moment the page loaded, he noticed an announcement.

Please, take note that my mailbox will be temporarily closed for personal reasons.

I am unable to say when I will be coming back, but I will inform you as soon as possible.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Hope you are well.

With love and respect, Emmanuel.

“No,” breathed Dean. “No. It—he—”

Desperate, he had one last place left to check. He ran to his front door hoping to find a note. Explaining his disappearing act. The goodbye Dean didn’t want to hear. Reassuring him that it wasn’t what he thought.

But nothing. Not on his doormat, underneath it or anywhere else on his porch.

And with that, Castiel was gone.


	10. Chapter Ten: A Pining Neighbour

The next couple of weeks turned out to be very difficult for Dean. He called in sick at work and wallowed in his home with the firm intention of not speaking to anyone indefinitely.

That plan didn’t last for very long, however, because on the second day following Castiel’s departure, his phone began ringing constantly.

Sam had caught wind that Dean had not showed up for work and was deeply concerned for his well-being.

Rightfully so.

Dean had let the phone ring a few times until he remembered his promise to Sam.

So, true to his word, he called his brother back and explained what had happened. He had not dwelled on the details, nor had he sugarcoated how he felt about it.

Wanting nothing more than to cheer him up, Sam suggested that he and Jess keep him company for dinner, but Dean, though he greatly appreciated the offer, kindly declined and told him that he preferred remaining on his own for now.

“I swear I’m okay,” he said with sincerity. “I—I just need time to process.” He paused and, feeling that Sam was not utterly convinced by his statement, added in the most earnest voice he could master, “How about Friday night? If you guys don’t have any plans, how about we do something then? Here or—I can come to your place. Either way.”

“That would be great, Dean. Anything you want. I know Jess would be thrilled to see you.”

“That’s settled then. I—I’ll be better by then.”

Sam made Dean promise to call him every day, just to let him know how he was, as well as to reach out to him if there was any problem at all. No matter the time of day.

Dean promised.

And while he did call Sam on a daily basis, he didn’t have much to report. Bobby, his boss, insisted that Dean take the rest of the week off on the account that he had rarely taken a sick day—or vacation day, for that matter—and that it was about time that he did.

So, he hid himself in his house and attempted as best he could to not spend his time being angry with himself.

Angry with Castiel for having left so abruptly.

Angry that he had let him.

But on the fourth night, unable to sleep due to the overwhelming ordeal, he sat at his computer and began writing a heartfelt Dear Emmanuel letter.

Even if he knew that it was impossible for him to submit it while the mailbox was still closed.

Dear Emmanuel,

I always find your words comforting, which is why I am writing to you now. I need your help and I am convinced only you can bring it to me.

I’ve always been sure what to expect of the world. Of people. And even though it has been depressing for a lot of years, I had accepted that this was the case. End of story.

And then I met someone who did what I thought was impossible.

They proved me wrong. They proved to me that I could not only expect more, but that I owed it to myself to do so.

And like an idiot, I ruined everything.

With this failure—one of many—I fear that my one glimmer of hope was simply an illusion after all. That nothing had really changed and everything remained exactly as it always had been.

But I hope I’m wrong.

I am desperately praying that I am wrong.

I behaved like an idiot because I was afraid that I would repeat my past mistakes. And I ended up not giving that person—that amazing, selfless and beautiful person—the credit they deserved.

And now, it’s too late. I miss them more than I ever thought I could miss someone and I don’t know what to do to change that.

Looking out of my window and not seeing them there is unbearable.

And I find myself opening my front door, deeply wishing for a kind note.

With love,

A Pining Neighbour

Despite Castiel’s previous blog announcement, Dean decided to verify if the website was operational again.

Sadly, nothing had changed. Emmanuel was not replying to any new messages and the mailbox was still closed.

Dean realized, however, that the _comment_ section hadn’t been shut down.

He took a deep breath, copy pasted his letter, swallowed hard and pressed "Submit."

And there it was.

His letter for Castiel and everyone else to see.

Given the amount of comments that were piling up, he wasn’t sure how quickly Castiel would see it, but it was better than nothing.

Even if he knew he had most likely lost his chance.

Dean checked the blog every few hours after that. Every morning, the moment he opened his eyes. Every time he was pouring himself a new cup of coffee. Every time he turned his head towards the door, almost hoping a note would manifest itself on his doormat.

But he was always disappointed to assess that no new replies had been posted from Emmanuel.

And after a week of prayers and constantly refreshing the page, he told himself that it was pointless.

He went to bed, upset at the idea that he had, indeed, ruined everything, and that the sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could perhaps get over it.

The night had not been pleasant.

The next morning arrived with a breeze settling in, which prompted Dean to sit in his rocking chair, while drinking his coffee and staring at the quiet lake, in the hope of replenishing his soul.

But the moment he stepped onto the porch, he felt something under his left foot.

A note.

He swore under his breath when he nearly burned his hand with his coffee as he had momentarily loosened his grip on the cup.

He carefully laid it on the chair, feeling his hands shaking, and slowly picked up the note.

Dearest Dean,

I must begin by apologizing to you about everything, once more.

Especially about leaving that way. I feel like it is almost futile to state it in this fashion, but I swear to you that it wasn’t my intention to do so.

To clarify the situation, my plan was to leave briefly—a day or two at the most—and immediately return.

And remain here permanently.

Due to unforeseen complications, however, my absence lasted far longer than I had originally planned and I feared that with it I had forever lost my chance to remedy the situation with you.

Which pained me gravely. More than you can know.

But then, someone left the most wonderful letter in the comment section. I knew then what needed to be done and a short reply, no matter how truthful, wouldn’t cut it.

So, I continued with my original plan and, long story short, until Mrs. Barr returns from her maternity leave, I am now a new employee of Turner Business Company, which will allow me necessary time to set up my own accounting services in Tulpa.

Furthermore, when Miss Hanscum would not accept my offer to buy her house, which I had expected, I then tried the next best thing, and unlike her, Mr. Sinclair accepted my offer.

Which means that, very soon, you’ll be able to find me at my new residence right across the lake.

I have a lot to tell you. More than simple explanations. More than I can write in a note.

So, please, once I move in, feel free to come by anytime you want. For a talk. A game of backgammon. For a meal.

And hopefully, most of all, to give me a second chance.

My sole desolation is that we will no longer be next-door neighbours.

But perhaps, with time, we will be more and even better.

Your permanent and also pining neighbour,

Castiel

With his hands trembling by the time he had reached the end of the letter, Dean looked up and gasped when he spotted Castiel sitting on Donna’s porch.

Not even caring about being in his pajamas, he jumped off his porch, and stopped dead about halfway there, when Castiel met his eyes.

“Hello, Dean.”

He was wearing a suit, much like the one he had worn at the engagement party. And once he assessed that Dean wasn’t walking away from him, he got to his feet and advanced towards him with caution.

“Cas, you’re here,” said Dean in a slow breath.

Castiel nodded.

For all the times Dean had listed countless things he had wanted to tell Castiel, all he found himself able to do was stare at him.

He was terrified of saying the wrong thing. He had no idea where to begin. This was a lot to process before his morning cup of coffee.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his mind felt like Jell-O.

And then he heard himself say, “I’m sorry.” He shifted on his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry about—I—I know how I was before you—I—I don’t blame you for having thought—I—I was an ass. I just—I was just so mad!” He paused an instant, feeling his voice breaking by the end of his sentence.

Castiel took a deep breath. His face was unreadable. He was harboring his deadpan expression. Even his blue eyes, which usually served as a big clue regarding his mood, weren’t helping Dean this time.

But Castiel was there and he was patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I shouldn’t have cut you out. I didn’t want to. I was just…processing everything. And I—I was also punishing you,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Even though I knew I still…” He bit on his lips, hesitating on his words.

“I’m sorry, too,” said Castiel.

Dean lifted his eyes.

“I’m sorry that I hadn’t been fully honest about my situation with Daphne from the beginning.”

“Why didn’t you?” said Dean softly. “I understand why it wasn’t the first thing out of your mouth, but—” he paused, taking a deep breath. “And I—I’m still not sure what the situation was—is—whatever.”

Castiel shifted on his feet. He took a moment to choose his words properly, and then said, “Daphne and I had been together for a really long time, as I told you, but we—our relationship…I respect and care for her. I always will. But I never—we were never in love. We were comfortable, and since I had a pretty good deal in terms of what life had to offer, I told myself that I really had nothing to complain about.”

“You had accepted it,” whispered Dean.

“ _End of story_ , yes.”

They locked eyes with each other.

“But I still felt like something was missing. It became particularly clear when I began my blog. It was as though people were reminding me daily that there was a problem. Finally, Daphne did us both a service and brought up the issue. We knew where this was heading and I think we were scared of what it meant, so we circled around it. Then, almost by magic, a few days later, I was told to go on a vacation and that’s when we decided to use that opportunity to take some time apart. We were to reflect upon it and make an official decision once I was back from vacation. It sounds like we were being pragmatic, but it’s clear that we were simply prolonging the inevitable. Nonetheless, I agreed. And then, I came here and I met you.”

Dean felt his heartbeat increase.

“I tried to rationalize it. It took me a really long time to admit it. But once I had…Dean, I wasted so much time convincing myself that I was happy when I wasn’t. When I finally knew what I wanted—what I was missing—I—making decisions wasn’t that difficult after that. And picturing myself living here…with you…And _then_ , after what happened between us… _that_ night…that was—I—”

Castiel didn’t need to finish the rest of his sentence. Dean knew. No matter how badly it had turned out, or what would happen now, nothing could take that moment away from them.

“I didn’t tell you about my situation with Daphne when we met because I was still processing it, even if I knew what the outcome would be. And the more I got to know you…When Daphne visited, she immediately saw it. That I had feelings for you, I mean. So, we talked and that’s when we officially broke up. Not because of you,” he added urgently. “I want to be clear about that: you did nothing wrong, Dean. Daphne and I ending things was a long time coming. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you about Daphne sooner. _Much_ sooner. And the only reason why I kept my mouth shut about how I felt once I was single was because I thought you were with Richie.”

“Okay,” said Dean, letting the information sink in. “Okay, but even if—if that’s true, that still doesn’t explain why you left.”

“I didn’t want to leave, but I had to because of work.” Noticing Dean’s confusion, he added quickly, “Apparently my boss is a crook and the real reason why he insisted that I go on vacation was because he felt I was close to catching him. Which is almost hilarious considering I had no clue or suspicion whatsoever.”

“What?”

“Yes. It seems that I had dug up old files about one of our biggest clients and—anyway,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “The important part is that, without meaning to, I made him nervous and he wanted me out of the office for a few weeks so he could cover his tracks. Ironically, the moment he started doing so, it raised suspicion among my colleagues, and the next thing he knew, Adler Accounting Corporation was shut down and under investigation. Since I was on vacation, I hadn’t checked any of my work-related emails or calls in almost a week, so I had no idea what was happening. They kept calling at home and the fact that I wasn’t answering was raising concerns. That was why Daphne had rushed here at the last minute on _that_ night. To let me know of all the drama and that I was to return home as soon as possible to answer certain questions. And that—that’s why I had to leave. To deal with the issue at work. But I didn’t want to leave before talking to you—nor did I want to force a conversation you clearly didn’t want to have. Convinced it wouldn’t be for long, I decided to go and immediately return. I didn’t know how I would make it work, but _I was coming back_. I even hoped you hadn’t noticed that I had left at all…”

“Well, I did notice. And I—” Dean stopped himself. He didn’t want to lash out at him, but he also wanted answers and discussing this topic seemed to fuel his resentment. Yet, every time his eyes met Castiel’s, he could practically feel his worries slowly melt away.

“And you what?” said Castiel calmly.

“I just—I was going to say that I wished you wouldn’t have made it so complicated to contact you. I know,” he said, after biting his bottom lip. “It’s rich coming from me. I—I get why you hesitated on telling me any of this before as I probably wouldn’t have listened. But when I realized you had gone, which was only because I had found the note you had left for Donna— _Donna_ , not me—I just…I tried to call you, but you—did you really have to cut all the cords, too?”

Castiel frowned. “What? What do—”

“Your phone? The _blog_? It was like…for someone who says they meant to come back, that’s not what it looked like from where I was standing. It looked like you were done with me.”

Castiel shut his eyes. “Shit, I—Dean, no. Okay, I—I completely forgot you had that number. My phone is paid by my company. So, the moment I returned their call informing them I would soon be on my way, they closed my account. It was the first thing I had to hand back when I returned to the office.”

Dean bit his lips.

“As for the blog, I only closed the mailbox because it was honestly getting out of control. Over the last few weeks, I was able to answer more letters due to my free time. At first it was great because I was catching up on things. But then it appeared that my productivity ironically created more demands. The more replies a day I posted, the more messages I was receiving and—that’s why I had to close it. I’m glad I had the good sense of leaving the comment section open though…I just never expected that it would take me so long to return here. Or that you’d…I—I’m so sorry.”

Dean pondered on what Castiel had just told him. While the situation appeared less grim, there were still certain details that were left unexplained.

“What about Donna’s note? If—if you say you meant to come back, why did you leave a thank you note to Donna like you were leaving?”

“Dean, because—because the whole ordeal at work implied that I had lost my job. Even if I planned to return as soon as I could, this, um, meant the end of my vacation, as well as potential financial complications. I informed Donna of the situation and she was very understanding, so I—I needed to thank her.” He shifted on his feet. “The thing is—as horrid as losing my job was, it’s probably the best thing that could have happen to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Because now I really didn’t have anything holding me back.” And with pleading eyes, he added, “I wanted to stay here with you since—since even before we—before that night. Before our day at the lake. I didn’t know how we could make it work—I didn’t even know if you liked me—but I wanted to stay here. To live here. With you. While I was dealing with the drama back home, I made a few calls and I was surprised how quickly I found employment in Tulpa. Once I knew that I was no longer in trouble financially, finding a place to live around here didn’t sound as impossible. I tried for Donna’s first, but I didn’t want to rent. I wanted my own place. And you know the rest.” He paused and looked across the lake where Mr. Sinclair’s house was located and hidden behind trees. “The only thing left to know was how you felt about me. I—I just—you were so angry with me. But your letter gave me hope.”

Dean, with his arms still crossed over his chest, swallowed with difficulty as he felt his throat tighten. And after staring at Castiel for a long minute, he said, “I meant every word.” He cleared his voice and took another moment to make sure his voice wouldn’t break. “And Cas, what you said about when we—but it was more than just that moment, too. It was everything. I couldn’t stop reading your blog. I couldn’t get over how you just made everything better. I tried so hard not to like you, because I thought—” Feeling his eyes prickling, Dean stopped mid-sentence and turned his head, hoping to regain his composure.

“I’m so sorry about this whole mess, Dean.”

Dean shook his head and looked at Castiel. “It’s okay. You—this wasn’t just because—you had a good reason. You apologized enough, Cas. I’m sorry, too. If I hadn’t let my temper get the better of me… Cas, I—I’m just so happy you’re here.” He took a small step forward and asked, “You’re really staying?”

A smile formed itself on Castiel’s lips, and he said, “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Feeling lighter and unable to contain his own smile, Dean gave him a shy nod.

While he knew they still had plenty to discuss about this subject, he felt that they had addressed what had been urgent and wanted to yield the conversation to another direction.

“So, um, Sinclair’s place? I didn’t even know he wanted to sell the place.”

Castiel nodded, with a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“I promised to not divide the land as I was once told that’s how the community preferred it.”

Dean nodded, smirking. “Smart.”

“It’s charming with a lot of potential,” continued Castiel. “But I find it very secluded. _Quiet_.”

“Some people like quiet,” said Dean, teasing him.

“I thought you might say that, especially because of the summer time. I certainly see the appeal.” Castiel stepped closer. “But company is not bad, either.”

Dean bit his lips. “A few weeks ago, I—I’m not sure I would have agreed.”

“And now?”

Castiel took another step.

“Now, I guess it all depends on the company in question.”

“Which means what exactly?” asked Castiel, holding down a grin. He was now within Dean’s reach with the tip of their feet almost touching.

“It means that _quiet_ may seem overrated with the right kind of company.”

Dean reached out for Castiel’s hand and gently pulled him towards him. Brushing the back of his hand with his thumb, he rested his other hand on his waist.

“Hmm. And what about the time of day?” asked Castiel, after wrapping his free arm around him. “What if said company was to drop in early in the morning? I know how you feel about mornings. Will that be too annoying?”

“That’s something I’m more than willing to tolerate.”

“Interesting. And what’s your stance about nighttime visits?”

“Without question, those are the best.”

Castiel laughed wholeheartedly.

And staring at him, Dean said softly, “Cas, you can stop by anytime you want. And stay as long as you desire. Your place or my place…in a crowd or just us two…Spending my time with you is—being with you—that’s all I want.”

He felt Castiel squeeze his hand. His soft breath on his lips.

“So, um,” said Dean, “when exactly are you going to move into Sinclair’s—well, your new house?”

“Couple of weeks.”

“And where are you now?”

“Motel. Financially speaking, it was the best option and I also thought it might give you your space in case…Why?”

“I was just thinking that, um, if you wanted to save some money, you could stay here until then.”

“Is that so?”

And Castiel had slowly begun leaning in, but right before their lips could touch, Dean said, “Before I forget, I just have one last question.”

Castiel tittered. He licked his lips, smiled brightly and said, “What is it?”

“What was the very first question you answered on your blog? Before it was even ‘Dear Emmanuel,’ you said someone had asked you for advice and that prompted other people asking you questions and I—I’ve been meaning to ask you since you first mentioned it. The letters on your blog aren’t dated so…I’m just really curious about that.”

Still grinning at him, Castiel said, “The question was ‘How do you know that you love someone?’”

“Wow. They just went for the heavy stuff right away, huh?” said Dean, laughing. “What was your answer?”

“More or less what you just told me,” whispered Castiel. “Wanting to share your time with them, especially in harsh times, I think that’s usually a big clue.”

“I like that answer.”

And Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s.

So tenderly.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!  
> Another thank you to my saviours [Danica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust/works) and Landrala!! 
> 
> An amazing thank you to kysprite, who did the [wonderful art](https://imgur.com/a/TH19hPQ) ! I'm so grateful to have been able to work with you! It was a pleasure, truly.
> 
> And thank you to the DeanCasPinefest 2020 mods, who were so great and patient. Thank you!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://thefandomsinhalor.tumblr.com), where I obsess some more about spn :)  
> I hope you all have a nice day and that you are all safe ❤️


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